sity  of  California 
hern  Regional 
rary  Facility 


SIBYL 


OE, 


OUT    OF    THE    SHADOW    INTO    THE    SUN, 


MARTHA    RUSSELL. 


•  God  gives  patience ;  Love  learns  strength, 


And  Faith  remembers  promise, 

And  Hope  itself  can  smile,  at  length, 

On  other  hopes  gone  from  us ! " 

E.  BARBETT  BROWNINO. 


BOSTON  AND  CHICAGO : 
L.    P.    CROWN    AND    COMPANY. 

PHILADELPHIA:     J.  W.    BRADLEY. 

TORONTO,  C.  W. :  BOSTWICK  &  BARNARD. 

1857. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by 

L.    P.    CEOWN   &    COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED     AT    THE 
BOSTON     S  T  I)  IS  F.  O  T  Y  V  E     FOUNDRY. 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

E.  F.  B.; 

WHOSE  BRIEF  EXISTENCE  HEEE  MADE  ALL  HOLY  AND 
BEAUTIFUL  THINGS  POSSIBLE  TO  WOMANHOOD, 

THESE     PAGES 
ARE    LOVINGLY   DEDICATED. 


2063511 


SIBYL; 

OR, 

OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  INTO  THE  SUN. 

CHAPTER   I. 

"  MAMMA  ! " 

"  Well,  darling." 

"  I  want  my  rocking  horse.  Won't  you  make  James  go 
to  Mr.  Healy's  for  it  ?  I  want  it  this  minute,  mamma." 

"  There,  do  be  quiet,  Willie." 

"  But  I  want  it  now  !  "  and  the  determined  little  fellow 
climbed  upon  the  sofa  where  the  lady  lay,  and  tumbled 
himself,  sans  ceremonie,  into  her  lap.  Partly  rising,  she 
pressed  back  with  kisses  the  impatient  "  mammas  "  which 
the  little  wilful  lips  persisted  in  uttering. 

At  the  risk  of  being  considered  trite  at  the  outset,  we 
must  say  that,  to  us,  there  is  no  more  beautiful  sight  than 
a  young  mother  and  her  child.  Part  of  this  may  be  set 
down  to  the  woman  within  us,  but  more  to  the  fact  that, 
though  old  as  Time,  it  ever  comes  upon  us  with  the  fresh 
ness  of  originality — a  phase  of  the  Infinite  upon  which 
Time  has  left  no  trace. 

(7) 


8  SIBYL. 

And  very  beautiful  indeed  was  the  young  face  that  bent 
over  that  child  !  Not  less  round,  less  smooth,  or  less  deli 
cate,  in  its  soft  outlines,  than  the  childish  one  nestled  upon 
her  lap.  It  was  a  picture  for  an  artist :  the  finely-formed 
head,  with  its  masses  of  silken,  sunny  hair,  which,  escaping 
from  the  richly- wrought  comb,  fell  in  soft  waves  over  the 
daintily  curved  shoulders ;  the  sweet,  full  mouth,  so  sugges 
tive  of  smiles  and  mischief,  and  all  manner  of  pretty  wil- 
fulness ;  the  round,  white  arms,  stealing  from  a  rich  dra 
pery  of  lace,  and  folding  closer  and  closer  the  curly  head 
of  the  little  one,  would  have  filled  his  soul  with  delight,  and 
for  a  moment  he  might  have  fancied  his  life-long  dream 
realized  —  that  one  of  those  shapes  of  the  ^'eternal  beauty 
which  haunted  his  sleeping  hours,  and  glimpsed  out  upon 
him  from  the  white  clouds,  or  flitted  by  him  in  the  dim  old 
woods,  was  embodied  here. 

And  yet  he  must  not  gaze  too  long;  for  then  would 
arise  the  query  which  the  thoughtful  soul  puts  to  every 
beautiful  face  —  "  What  of  the  soul  within  ?  "  and  there 
would  arise  upon  him  the  vision  of  some  woman  he  had 
known,  plain  and  homely,  but  whose  features  were  trans 
figured  by  the  noble  soul  within,  like  "  night  crowned  with 
stars,"  and  he  would  feel  the  truth  at  once  —  that  Elsie 
Monroe  was  but  a  pet  and  a  plaything ;  —  as  much  so  now 
as  when,  six  years  ago,  she  had  become  the  wife  of  Ar 
thur  Monroe.  Her  doting  old  father  lived  only  to  see  her 
a  bride,  and  she  had  wept  passionately  upon  his  coffin,  and 
quite  as  passionately  at  the  thought  of  laying  aside  her 


SIBYL'S  MOTHER.  9 

splendid  wedding  trousseau  (for  which  the  fond  old  man  had 
expended  the  last  relics  of  what  had  once  been  a  handsome 
fortune)  for  crape  and  bombazine,  and  the  series  of  gay 
parties  upon  which  she  had  counted  for  the  seclusion  of  her 
own  home. 

Perhaps  her  husband  did  not  So  deeply  regret  this  quiet 
seclusion,  for  at  twenty-five  he  worshipped  his  wife  with  all 
the  passionate  fervor  of  a  strong,  but  half-developed  nature, 
and,  like  most  men  of  earnest  minds,  cared  more  about 
keeping  his  treasure  to  himself,  than  displaying  it  to  the 
admiration  of  the  world. 

Such  men  do  not  crave  the  aid  of  strange  hands  to  offer 
incense  to  their  heart's  idols  —  a  truth  which  many  a  wo 
man  besides  his  "  child  wife  "  has  learned  all  too  late. 

Yet  the  first  year  of  their  married  life,  so  often  said  to 
be  that  of  hardest  trial,  passed  with  them  like  a  summer 
dream  —  all  the  more  pleasant  because  they  had  those  joys 
and  hopes  to  speak  of  with  which  "  the  stranger  intermed- 
dleth  not ; "  for,  at  the  end  of  that  year,  a  little  daughter 
was  given  to  their  arms.  The  young  mother  was  delighted 
with  her  new  plaything,  and  it  was  so  pleasant  to  see  her 
leaning  over  it  so  fondly,  looking  up,  now  and  then,  so 
archly  in  her  husband's  face,  as  she  traced  out  resem 
blances  to  him;  one  moment  hoping  it  would  be  "just  like 
him,"  and  the  next  that  it  would  look  a  little  — just  a  little 
bit  —  like  herself,  and  laughing  so  merrily  as  she  placed  it 
in  his  arms,  and  showed  him  how  to  hold  it,  and  with  such 
a  bewitching  assumption  of  maternal  dignity,  that  Monroe 


10  SIBYL  . 

was  certainly  excusable  for  thinking  no  man  ever  possessed 
a  wife  and  child  like  his. 

Six  years  lie  between  that  period  and  the  opening  of  our 
story.  Elsie  Monroe  is  twenty-three,  and  Time,  like  an 
enamoured  artist,  has  only  touched,  here  and  there,  a  point 
in  her  face  and  figure,  to  render  more  perfect  their  rare 
loveliness ;  but  he  has  dealt  far  less  kindly  with  the  little 
child. 

There  she  sits,  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window, 
with  a  doll  on  one  knee,  and  a  pile  of  picture  books  by  her 
side,  but  occupied  with  neither.  Of  such  things  she  has 
enough;  but  she  gazes  long  and  earnestly  at  her  little 
brother,  struggling  to  avoid  his  mother's  kisses  —  a  wee, 
elfin-like  figure,  numbering  six  years,  yet  scarcely  taller 
than  little  "Willie  at  two.  "What  do  that  earnest,  implor 
ing  look,  and  the  quivering  of  that  small  mouth,  imply  ? 
This  much  :  that  children  —  ay,  little  children  —  have 
within  them  a  world  of  thoughts,  and  dreams,  and  fancies, 
of  which  we,  children  of  older  growth,  never  dream.  That 
little  Sibyl  Monroe  would  give  all  the  toys,  all  the  books, 
even  her  beautiful  picture  of  the  infant  Jesus,  for  just  one 
of  those  kisses  which  "Willie  seeks  to  avoid  —  for  one  such 
close,  loving  clasp  of  those  beautiful  arms. 

A  kiss  will  be  hers  in  a  few  moments,  for  their  half  hour 
in  the  parlor  is  almost  spent ;  not  such  a  one  —  but  one 
coldly,  carelessly  given  ;  and  as  the  nurse  enters,  and  the  child 
rises  and  comes  forward,  the  light  from  the  brilliant  chan 
delier,  falling  upon  her  tiny  figure,  and  shy,  upturned  face, 


SIX    TEARS    LATER.  11 

reveals  features  small  and  delicate,  but  sadly  disfigured  by 
deep  red  and  blue  and  purple  spots  —  sad  traces  of  that 
fearful  scourge,  the  small  pox. 

But  her  voice  is  low  and  very  sweet,  as,  with  a  "  Good 
night,  dear  mamma,"  she  returns  her  mother's  carelessly 
given  caress,  and  follows  the  nurse  to  her  room,  while  the 
mother  sinks  down  again  upon  the  sofa,  and  resumes  her 
reading,  little  dreaming  that  her  indifference  is  wearing 
deeper  scars  in  that  tender,  thoughtful  little  child  heart,  than 
any  left  on  her  face  by  disease. 

"Will  they  reach  and  unseal  for  her  the  fountain  of  the 
Infinite  Love,  which  to  know  is  life  eternal  ?  We  shall  see. 


CHAPTER    II. 

ARTHUR  MONROE,  like  many  an  older  and  wiser  man, 
had  yielded  up  soul  and  sense  to  the  spell  of  physical 
beauty,  and  had  been,  for  some  three  years  after  his  mar 
riage,  we  had  almost  said,  content.  But  if  so,  how  shall  we 
account  for  the  secret,  half-acknowledged  longing  that  would 
sometimes  come,  that  his  wife  would  be  a  little  less  childish 
—  that  she  would  take  sufficient  interest  in  his  pursuits  not  to 
yawn  or  fall  asleep  when  he  was  reading,  or  make  grimaces 
at  which  he  himself  was  forced  to  laugh  ?  But  then  she  was 
so  young,  so  gentle — she  had  always  been  such  a  pet; 
besides,  she  loved  him  so  dearly  !  —  what  man  could  with 
stand  an  argument  like  the  last  ?  And  with  her  fair  head 
resting  on  his  shoulder,  or  her  soft  hand  smoothing  his 
cheek,  he  must  have  been  of  a  sterner  nature  than  Monroe 
who  could  long  have  cherished  such  thoughts. 

When  Sibyl  was  about  two  years  old,  it  became  neces 
sary  that  one  of  the  members  of  the  mercantile  firm,  of 
which  he  was  junior  partner,  should  go  to  Europe  ;  and  the 
duty  fell  upon  him.  He  could  not  well  refuse,  being 
wholly  dependent  upon  his  business,  his  marriage  with  little 
Elsie  Gordon  having  offended  the  only  relative  from  whom 

(12) 


GOING    TO    EUROPE.  13 

he  had  ever  expected  any  aid  —  a  maternal  uncle,  a  queer 
old  body,  whose  professed  dislike  of  "  beauties "  was 
equalled  only  by  his  horror  of  early  marriages.  Though 
residing  in  the  same  city,  he  had  never  seen  Monroe's  wife, 
and  Arthur  was  too  proud  to  seek  a  reconciliation. 

Neither  could  he  take  his  wife  and  child  with  him,  though 
Elsie  wept,  and  begged,  and  entreated.  She  found,  to  her 
surprise  and  vexation,  that  her  husband  could  be  firm,  as 
well  as  fond,  and  made  herself  ill  with  weeping  over  the 
discovery. 

He  waited  in  silence,  with  a  grave  brow,  until  her  grief 
had  spent  its  first  violence,  then  again  explained  the  neces 
sity  of  their  separation,  and  his  plans  for  her  comfort. 

"  I  shall  be  absent  not  more  than  a  year,  if  I  can  help  it, 
Elsie  —  an  age  to  us  both,  I  grant,  but  I  cannot  help  it ; 
and  if  you  and  baby  Sibyl  can  content  yourselves  down  at 
Eltham " 

"  At  Eltham !  "  she  exclaimed,  starting  up,  and  clasping 
one  arm  around  his  neck ;  "  surely,  Arthur,  you  will  not 
send  us  down  there  ! " 

"  But  I  thought " 

"  No  matter  what  you  thought.  I  detest  Eltham ;  I 
should  die  of  ennui  there  before  six  months  were  over,  with 
nobody  to  talk  to  but  your  brother's  wife.  Don't  be  angry," 
she  went  on,  smiling  through  her  tears,  as  she  noted  his 
serious  look ;  she  is  a  very  excellent  woman,  I  dare  say, 
but  she  is  so  unwell,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  be  with  sick  peo 
ple  !  Besides,  I  can't  abide  the  country." 


14  SIBYL. 

Monroe  looked  a  moment  into  the  fair,  pouting  face. 
"  A  pretty  rosebud,  set  in  wilful  thorns,"  uplifted  so  eagerly 
to  his,  and  a  smile  lighted  his  grave  face,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  thought  you  were  delighted  with  Eltham,  Elsie.  You 
could  not  praise  it  enough  when  we  were  there  after  our 
marriage." 

"  O,  yes,  then  I  was,  to  be  sure ;  and  I  would  be  de 
lighted  with  it  now,  if  you  were  with  me.  I  will  be  de 
lighted  with  all  those  miserable,  disagreeable  things  which 
you  say  would  await  me  in  Europe,  if  you  will  let  me  go. 
Only  try  me,  Arthur." 

How  that  strong,  loving  heart  yearned  to  grant  the  re 
quest  so  pleadingly  urged  by  lips  and  eyes !  It  was  some 
moments  before  he  replied,  with  a  sigh,  as  he  pressed  his 
lips  to  her  forehead,  — 

"  I  would  it  were  in  my  power  to  '  try  you  '  as  you  say, 
dear  Elsie.  This  separation  will  be  harder  for  me  than  for 
you,  for  you  will,  at  least,  have  little  Sibyl ; "  and  the 
father's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  glanced  at  the  cradle 
where  the  little  one  slept.  "  When  I  spoke  of  Eltham," 
he  added,  "  I  thought  how  nice  the  pure,  fresh  country  air 
would  be  for  her." 

"  There !  the  truth  comes  out !  You  thought  far  more 
of  her  than  you  did  of  me ! "  cried  the  young  wife,  half 
jestingly.  "  I  might  have  known  how  it  would  be.  It's 
just  the  way  with  all  men.  Confess  the  truth  —  isn't  it  so, 
Arthur?  No,"  she  went  on,  poutingly,  in  reply  to  the 
mute  answer  her  husband  saw  fit  to  make  to  this 


THE    SHADOW.  15 

"  no,  I  am  not  to  be  put  off  with  kisses.  You  know  it's 
the  truth." 

"  Elsie  ! "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  surprise  and  pain. 

"  You  need  not  cry, '  Elsie  ! ' "  she  went  on,  her  light 
tone  changing  to  one  of  petulant  complaint.  "  I  have  seen 
it  all  for  some  time.  You  don't  care  for  me,  or  you  would 
take  me  with  you ; "  and  the  spoiled  pet  burst  into  hysteri 
cal  tears. 

He  was  a  young  husband  —  still  a  lover,  and  the  little 
tricks  of  girlhood  had  not  yet  lost  their  power.  He  would 
have  drawn  her  to  him,  but  she  pettishly  repulsed  him,  and, 
rising,  he  walked  the  room  in  silence.  She  watched  him 
through  her  wavy  hair ;  she  saw  him  pause  and  lean  for 
some  time  upon  the  mantel-piece,  and  when  he  turned  his 
face  towards  her  again,  it  wore  a  new  look  which  some  in 
stinct  taught  her  to  regret.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
stealing  softly  to  his  side,  said,  — 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me,  Arthur  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  the  rigid  lines  about  his 
mouth  slowly  curved  into  a  smile.  "  You  are  such  a  child, 
Elsie,"  he  said,  as  he  gathered  her  little  hands  in  his,  — 
"  and  who  could  be  angry  with  a  child  ?  " 

It  was  decided  that  Elsie  and  her  child  should  remain  in 
their  own  house,  which  was  in  the  same  block  with  that  of 
her  cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norland. 

"  It  will  be  so  much  better  than  that  tiresome  Eltham," 
said  Elsie,  "  to  be  able  to  run  into  cousin  Julia's  and  hear 
the  news ;  for  I  suppose,  Arthur,"  she  went  on  question- 


16  SIBYL. 

ingly,  "  I  suppose  it  will  not  be  proper  for  me  to  go  out 
much." 

"  Will  you  wish  to  do  so,  darling  ?  " 

Any  one  accustomed  to  read  character  at  all  could  see 
how  much  the  question  involved  to  him. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know ;  it  will  be  rather  stupid  here, 
with  no  one  but  baby.  But,  of  course,  if  you  do  not  wish 
it,  I  shall  stay  at  home." 

"  I  wish  you  to  do  just  as  you  please,"  he  replied.  "  I 
suppose  I  am  rather  selfish ;  but  if  my  wife  is  left  to  her 
self,  I  think  I  can  trust  her  to  do  what  is  proper  and  right." 

"  If  you  cannot,  you  can  send  for  that  old  friend  of  yours, 
aunt  —  what 's  her  name  ?  —  the  woman  with  the  tall  cap 
crown,  whom  we  saw  down  at  Eltham.  She  will  be  as 
good  a  guard  as  that  ugly  dragon,  of  which  you  were  read 
ing  the  other  night,"  called  out  the  young  wife,  merrily,  as 
he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Aunt  Lydia  Blair,"  he  exclaimed,  pausing  on  the 
threshold.  "  That's  not  a  bad  suggestion,  Elsie.  She  is 
sensible  and  well  bred,  and  would  relieve  you  of  a  world  of 
care.  She  will  do  any  thing  for  me,  for  my  mother's  sake  ; 
and  I  don't  think  she  disliked  you,  when  we  were  down 
there." 

"  Disliked  me  !  There's  a  compliment  from  one's  hus 
band  !  I  should  like  to  know  who  does  dislike  me,  unless 
it  be  that  miserable  old  bachelor  uncle  of  yours.  I  am  not 
quite  a  fright,  I  believe.  You  can  write  for  her  to  come. 
She  will  serve  to  amuse  me,  at  least." 


CHAPTER    III. 

ELSIE  MONROE  was  one  of  those  women  who  have  no 
independent,  self-sustained  existence.  Vine-like,  she  was 
always  reaching  out  for  support,  and  in  the  absence  of  her 
husband,  her  cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norland,  became  her 
chief  dependence. 

They  were  well-meaning,  agreeable,  fashionable  people, 
who  did  their  best  to  amuse  her,  —  in  the  only  way  they 
could,  —  by  introducing  her  to  all  the  gayeties  of  their 
set,  and  considered  themselves  well  repaid  by  the  admira 
tion  her  grace  and  beauty  excited.  To  the  young  wife 
herself  it  was  a  welcome  return  to  the  enchanting  region 
she  had  just  entered  when  the  love  of  young  Monroe  mag 
netized  her  volatile  nature  and  opened  to  her  glimpses  of  a 
higher,  holier  world. 

But,  alas  !  few  "  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight "  in  this 
world;  and  when  his  arm  ceased  to  enfold  her,  and  his 
voice  to  linger  in  her  ear,  the  spell  slept.  The  strong,  holy, 
unswerving  love,  that  regards  neither  time,  nor  space,  nor 
absence,  nor  death  itself,  (why  should  it,  being  immortal  ?) 
springing  from  an  ever-living  fountain  as  freely  as  God 
gives  light,  and,  like  that,  blessing  its  object  without  a  con- 
2  (17) 


18  SIBYL. 

scious  thought  of  requital  or  reward,  was  not  hers.  Though 
she  spoke  of  her  husband  often  and  tenderly,  and  talked  to 
her  baby  in  terms  almost  as  childish  as  her  own,  of  her 
"  dear  papa,"  yet,  after  a  few  weeks,  she  was  surprised  to 
find  how  well  she  could  enjoy  herself  without  him,  and  took 
with  eager  pleasure  the  cup  which  the  world  offered  to 
her  lips. 

She  was  not  indifferent  to  her  child,  or  unmindful  of  her. 
She  always  saw  that  she  was  dressed  with  most  exquisite 
taste.  Half  a  dozen  times  a  day  she  would  catch  her  up 
and  half  smother  her  with  caresses,  while  she  lavished  upon 
her  all  manner  of  pet  names ;  and  there  her  sense  of 
maternal  duty  ended. 

But,  fortunately  for  the  child,  there  was  one  person  in 
the  house  whose  sense  of  the  responsibilities  of  life  had 
been  deepened  by  years  of  thought  and  experience  —  old 
Lydia  Blair.  She  was  both  able  and  willing  to  take  the 
matter  up  ;  and  it  may  be  that  it  was  not  less  fortunate  for 
her,  for,  though  the  memories  which  the  little  hands, 
clinging  about  her,  and  pressing  against  her  withered 
bosom,  recalled,  were  full  of  pain,  they  were,  nevertheless, 
softening  and  healing ;  and  had  little  Sibyl  been  of  her  own 
blood,  she  could  not  have  guarded  her  with  a  tenderer  care. 

Elsie  had  counted  upon  her  presence  and  old-fashioned 
ways  as  an  amusement ;  but  she  soon  felt  the  influence  of 
her  strong,  determined  character. 

In  personal  appearance  she  was  indeed  a  contrast  to 
Mrs.  Monroe  —  tall,  angular,  and  bony ;  but  her  plain 


AUNT     LYDIA    BLAIK.  19 

and  rather  old-fashioned  dress  was  always  neat  and  of  good 
material ;  and,  in  compensation  for  lack  of  all  that  attracts 
the  eye,  God  had  given  her  strong  good  sense,  unswerving 
integrity,  a  will  firm,  patient,  and  enduring,  and  a  heart 
stern  as  one  of  her  native  rocks  towards  all  wilful  sin,  but 
opening  a  fountain  of  tenderness  towards  the  helpless,  the 
wronged,  the  suffering,  and  down-trodden ;  though  this 
tenderness  came  perhaps  more  through  grace  than  nature. 

She  had  had,  like  almost  every  woman,  her  full  share  of 
the  experience  of  life,  and  she  had  had,  also,  the  wisdom  to 
read  it  aright.  The  great  moral  law  that  underlies  all  the 
theology  of  her  native  New  England,  and  forms  the  sub 
stratum  of  so  much  that  is  noble  and  peculiar  in  the  people 
there,  —  the  idea  of  duty,  —  was  the  main  spring  of  all  her 
thoughts  and  actions.  Of  course,  her  views  often  clashed 
with  those  of  Mrs.  Monroe  ;  but  somehow  the  winning  ways 
of  the  latter,  her  youth,  her  very  ignorance,  pleaded  for  her 
with  the  rigid  old  lady,  and  made  a  sort  of  "half-way 
covenant "  between  her  sense  of  duty  and  her  woman's  heart. 

Besides,  Arthur  Monroe's  mother  had  stood  her  firm 
friend  in  an  hour  when  there  was  little  light  for  her  on 
earth.  He  had  placed  her  there,  and  for  his  sake  she  would 
be  true  to  her  trust. 

So  the  year  passed  by,  and  Monroe  was  still  detained 
abroad.  His  letters  clearly  indicated  how  sore  the  trial 
was  to  him ;  but  Elsie  was  sincerely  vexed.  She  charged 
him  with  indifference  and  neglect,  and  half  angrily,  half 
playfully,  placed  her  tiny  hands  upon  her  ears  when  old 


20  SIBYL. 

Lydia  sat  herself  down,  as  she  sometimes  did,  to  "  make  her 
hear  to  reason ; "  pitying  herself  and  baby  Sibyl  as  the 
worst  used  people  upon  the  earth,  until  some  new  show  of 
admiration  came  to  attract  her  attention  and  put  her  in  good 
humor. 

One  evening,  towards  the  last  of  July,  as  old  Lydia  Blair 
sat  in  her  room,  with  Sibyl  on  her  knee,  telling  her,  as  was 
her  custom,  some  Bible  story,  before  putting  her  to  rest,  a 
servant  entered  with  a  letter.  Though  the  old  lady  had 
few  friends  living  who  would  be  likely  to  remember  her  in 
this  way,  she  would  not  be  disturbed  in  her  relation,  and 
motioned  the  girl  to  lay  it  upon  the  table.  When  she  had 
listened  to  the  childish  prayer,  and  seen  the  little  head 
upon  the  pillow,  she  drew  from  her  deep  pocket  her  glasses, 
and  adjusted  them  to  read  the  missive.  Being  a  person  of 
method,  she  examined  minutely  the  address  and  post  mark 
before  breaking  the  seal,  but  with  little  satisfaction ;  for 
both  were  nearly  illegible. 

"  It  must  be  from  that  worthless  fellow,  Jim  Needham, 
begging  for  money  again,  I  guess.  I  was  a  fool  to  ever 
think  of  making  any  thing  of  him.  He  might  have  written 
plainer,  I  should  think,  after  all  the  schoolin'  cousin  Sally 
gave  him.  But  she  sp'ilt  him  waitin'  on  him,"  she  muttered, 
as  she  broke  the  seal. 

She  read  slowly  a  few  lines,  looked  at  the  signature, 
then  suddenly  dropping  the  paper,  and  clasping  her  hands, 
exclaimed,  — 

"  O  God !  how  wonderful  are  thy  ways,  and  thy  judg 
ments  past  finding  out !  " 


SUDDEN    JOURNEY.  21 

For  some  moments  she  sat  with  a  bent  head,  while  only 
her  lips  moved,  as  if  wrestling  with  God  for  some  gift  of 
wisdom  or  of  strength ;  and  when  she  again  looked  up,  her 
face  was  very  pale,  and  the  great  tears  rolled  silently  down 
her  cheeks  and  lost  themselves  in  the  wrinkles  there. 

Half  an  hour  later,  she  entered  Mrs.  Monroe's  dressing 
room.  The  latter  was  arraying  herself  for  a  musical 
soiree,  which  she  was  to  attend  with  the  Norlands,  and 
when  the  old  lady  entered,  was  wreathing  a  string  of  pearls 
amid  her  hair.  As  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  tall  form 
in  the  mirror,  she  turned  towards  her,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  There,  aunt  Lydia,  is  not  this  dress  exquisite  ?  So 
light  and  cloud-like,  and  the  blonde  harmonizes  so  admi 
rably  with  these  pearls  !  Arthur  always  likes  to  see  me 
wear  pearls.  He  says  they  are  like  me,  so  fair  and  pure. 
Dear  Arthur !  I  wish  he  could  see  me  to-night !  "  And 
she  sighed  sadly ;  but  the  moment  after  added,  with  the 
volatile  gayety  which  marked  her  character,  "  Confess, 
now,  aunt  Lydia,  that  I  am  worthy  to  be  his  wife.  It  will 
be  such  a  rarity  to  get  a  compliment  from  you." 

The  old  woman  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  there  was 
a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice  as  she  replied,  — 

"  Favor  is  deceitful  and  beauty  vain.  The  fear  of  the 
Lord  alone  giveth  wisdom.  "Would  that  you  could  see  it 
now  as  you  will  in  the  years  to  come,  child.  But  each 
one  must  drain  his  cup  for  himself,  even  as  He  did  be 
fore  us." 

Even  Elsie  was  touched  by  the  earnestness  of  her  tones, 


22  SIBYL. 

and  noticing  for  the  first  time  her  unusual  paleness,  —  the 
only  evidence  of  emotion  that  her  strong  will  could  not  sup 
press,  —  she  dropped  the  scarf  she  was  about  to  fling  over 
her  shoulders,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"What  is  the  matter,  aunt  Lydia?  Something  has 
happened  !  Arthur  —  my  husband !  " 

"  Your  husband  is  well,  for  aught  I  know.  I  only  came 
to  tell  you  I  must  start  for  Boston  to-night." 

"  Start  for  Boston  —  you  !  Are  you  crazy,  aunt  Lydia  ? 
You  must  be  joking,"  cried  Elsie,  opening  her  eyes  in 
astonishment;  for  she  was  well  aware  of  the  old  dame's 
dislike  of  change. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,  Mrs.  Monroe.  I  shall  take  the  boat 
at  nine  o'clock." 

"But  what  for?  What  possible  reason  have  you  for 
going  to  Boston,  aunt  Lydia  ?  " 

"Because  the  hand  of  the  Lord  leadeth  me.  Yes,  it  is 
surely  his  hand,  and  none  other,"  she  added,  more  to  herself 
than  to  her  listener. 

"  Pshaw  !  aunt  Lydia !  I  do  wish  you  would  talk  like 
other  people,"  cried  Elsie,  impatiently.  "You  know  I 
cannot  stay  in  this  great  house  with  only  Bridget  and 
baby.  I  shall  die  of  fright.  It  is  not  right  for  you  to  go ; 
for  you  promised  Arthur  to  stay  here  until  he  came  back." 

"  I  know  I  did,  child,"  replied  the  old  woman,  sorrow 
fully.  "  But  I  must  go  now,  for  a  few  days.  Justice  and 
mercy  both  require  it.  There  is  a  person  there  lying  at 
the  point  of  death,  whom  I  must  see  once  more  in  the 
flesh." 


HOW     ELSIE     TAKES     IT.  23 

"  Some  person  dying !  One  of  your  friends,  aunt 
Lydia  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it  is  mine  enemy." 

Elsie  did  not  notice  the  painful  working  of  the  stern  old 
face;  but  her  own  cleared  up  at  once,  and  she  said, 
carelessly,  — 

"  O,  if  that  is  all,  I  am  sure  there  is  no  need  of  going. 
You  can't  certainly  want  to  see  a  person  you  dislike.  I 
never  do,"  she  went  on,  shrugging  her  fair  shoulders,  "  it 
gives  me  such  disagreeable  feelings.  Just  write  a  line. 
Or,  stay,"  she  added,  looking  at  her  watch ;  "  I  have  time,  I 
will  write  for  you.  You  are  much  too  old  to  think  of  going 
such  a  journey  alone." 

Old  Lydia  laid  the  keys  —  for,  as  Arthur  had  said,  she 
did  indeed  relieve  Elsie  of  all  household  cares  —  on  the 
dressing  table,  and  merely  said,  as  she  turned  away,  — 

"  I  must  go  myself.  I  have  sent  Bridget  for  the  car 
riage,  ma'am ;  and  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  look  into  the 
kitchen  once  in  a  while  yourself,  for  these  Irish  need  a  deal 
of  telling.  And  you  will  need  to  send  for  some  sugar  to 
morrow,  and  the  milk  bill  will  become  due  on  Friday." 

Elsie  looked  at  her  in  consternation. 

"  Do  you  really  intend  to  go  and  leave  me  with  all  these 
disagreeable  tilings  to  look  after  ?  "  And  flinging  herself 
down  upon  the  sofa,  she  began  to  weep  and  complain. 

"  It  was  too  bad :  Arthur  was  gone,  and  now  Lydia  must 
go  too ;  and  what  was  she  to  do  ?  It  was  very  provoking, 
just  as  she  had  made  such  a  nice  arrangement  to  accompany 


24  SIBYL. 

cousin  Julia  to  Saratoga.  She  believed  every  body  tried  to 
thwart  her." 

Aunt  Lydia  had  already  reached  the  threshold ;  but  at 
the  word  "  Saratoga  "  she  suddenly  turned  back,  and  there 
were  surprise,  anger,  and  pity  struggling  in  her  voice  as  she 
said,  solemnly,  — 

"  Elsie  Monroe,  if  you  would  be  indeed  worthy  of  the 
name  you  bear,  stay  at  home  with  your  child.  What 
should  you,  a  wife  and  mother,  be  doing  at  a  place  like 
that?  Dawdlin'  away  your  time,  if  nothin'  worse,  while 
your  husband  is  in  furrin  parts  slavin'  his  life  out  for  your 
comfort.  Have  a  little  thought  for  him,  if  none  for  your 
self." 

Mrs.  Monroe  raised  her  face  glowing  with  indignation. 
"  You  forget  yourself,  Lydia,"  she  said.  "  I  trust  I  know 
what  is  proper  for  the  wife  of  Arthur  Monroe.  You  can 
go  if  you  choose." 

But  the  old  dame  did  not  go ;  she  even  advanced  a  step 
towards  her  as  she  said,  with  a  show  of  tender  earnestness 
that  in  her  was  very  rare,  — 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that  you  don't,  ma'am,  but  woman  sins 
not  so  much  from  want  of  knowledge  as  want  of  thought. 
Neither  do  I  say  that  you  have  sinned,"  she  went  on, 
seeing  the  rising  color  in  Elsie's  cheek ;  "  and  I  know  that 
I  am  old  and  you  are  young  —  that  my  ways  are  not  as 
your  ways  ;  but  human  love,  be  it  husband's  or  friend's,  is 
the  same  in  one  age  as  another  —  harder  to  keep  than  to 
win  ;  and  take  the  advice  of  one  who  has  no  motive  but 


THE     NEGLECTED     CHILD.  25 

your  well  being,  —  if  you  would  meet  your  husband  with  an 
open  heart  and  clear  conscience,  stay  at  home.  One's  own 
roof  is  a  safeguard  against  many  evils." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  but  the  indignant  beauty  would 
not  see  it,  and  the  old  dame  turned  away  in  silence. 

Two  weeks  later,  when  she  returned,  she  found  Mrs. 
Monroe  absent  at  Saratoga,  and  little  Sibyl  an  inmate  of 
cousin  Julia's  nursery,  moaning  in  the  arms  of  an  Irish 
nurse.  With  a  faint  cry  of  joy  the  child  recognized 
her  old  friend,  and  the  latter  gathered  her  in  her  arms, 
while  she  sternly  questioned  the  housekeeper  and  the 
servants  as  to  the  cause  of  the  child's  illness.  The  moral 
atmosphere  of  Mrs.  Norland's  house  was  not  particularly 
calculated  to  foster  habits  of  strict  veracity ;  but  old  Lydia 
was  not  to  be  deceived,  and  she  at  last  obliged  the  nursery 
maid  to  confess  that  she  had  taken  the  child  out  with  her 
when  she  went  to  see  some  of  her  relatives  who  had  just 
come  over  from  Ireland. 

"  And  she  has  caught  some  of  their  dreadful  outlandish 
diseases,"  muttered  old  Lydia ;  "  but  if  the  mother  forsakes 
her  young,  what  can  'be  expected  of  the  hireling !  " 

She  took  the  child  home,  and  sent  for  a  physician,  who 
confirmed  her  worst  fears  ;  it  was  an  undoubted  case  of 
small  pox. 

Lydia  Blair  did  not  fear  death.  She  trusted  she  was 
ready  when  it  should  please  her  Maker  to  call  her ;  so  she 
shut  herself  up  in  her  own  room,  and  devoted  every  thought 
to  the  care  of  the  child,  scarcely  leaving  her  to  go  to  the 


26  SIBYL. 

door  for  the  food  which  the  terrified  servant  left  outside. 
On  the  sixth  night,  as  she  stood  over  her  charge,  bathing 
the  swollen  head  and  putting  up  unceasing  prayers  for  her 
recovery,  not  unmingled  with  hard  thoughts  towards  the 
absent  mother,  a  footstep  in  the  hall  aroused  her,  and, 
almost  before  she  was  aware  of  it,  Arthur  Monroe  entered 
the  room.  She  stood  speechless  for  one  second  in  surprise, 
then,  springing  forward,  essayed  to  thrust  him  back,  saying, 
in  a  low  but  startling  whisper,  — 

"  Not  here  !  You  must  not  come  here,  Arthur,  as  you 
value  your  life  ! " 

He  put  her  from  him  —  the  great,  bony  woman  —  as  if 
she  had  been  a  weed,  and  strode  up  to  the  bed  ;  but  start 
ing  back  horror-stricken  at  the  sight  of  the  little  purple 
face  upon  the  white  pillow,  he  seized  her  arm  with  a  force 
that  made  her  writhe  with  pain. 

"  Lydia  —  woman  —  where  is  my  wife  ?  " 

"Gone  off  with " 

He  did  not  let  her  finish  her  sentence,  but  flung  her  from 
him ;  and  the  stout  woman,  accustomed  all  her  life  to 
scenes  of  bodily  and  mental  agony,  trembled  as  she  saw 
how  his  strong  frame  shook,  and  his  swarthy  cheek 
blanched  as  he  grasped  the  bed  post  for  support.  Instantly 
she  divined  the  terrible  thought  which  unnerved  him. 

"Be  calm,  Arthur,"  she  said.  "It  is  not  that  —  not 
what  you  are  thinkin'.  Your  wife  is  careless,  thoughtless, 
and,  to  my  thinkin',  sometimes  unfeelin',  —  God  forgive  me 
if  I  wrong  her,  —  but  that  is  all.  She  is  with  the  Norlands 


THE     SHADOW   VISIBLE.  27 

at  Saratoga."  She  was  about  to  add  something  more,  but 
he  motioned  her  to  stop,  and  sinking  on  his  knees  by  the 
bedside,  something  like  a  sob  welled  up  from  his  heart.  At 
length  he  arose,  and  bending  over  the  child,  gazed  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  distorted,  disfigured  face ;  then  turned  his 
bewildered,  inquiring  eyes  upon  old  Lydia. 

"It  is  her,  indeed  —  your  little  Sibyl,"  returned  she, 
mournfully. 

He  again  bent  over  her,  drew  the  little  head  towards  him 

as  if  he  would  have  kissed  her ;  but  suddenly  drawing  back, 
he  asked,  — 

"  How  came  the  child  in  this  state  ?  and  why  is  my  wife 
not  here  ?  " 

Not  for  worlds  would  old  Lydia  Blair  have  said  aught 
of  his  young  wife  that  was  false  ;  but  there  was  no  soften 
ing  of  the  facts,  nor  of  her  tones,  as  she  related,  in  her 
straightforward  manner,  the  events  of  the  past  weeks. 
Perhaps  there  would  have  been,  could  she  have  known 
how  each  of  her  words  was  like  a  sharp  sickle  in  his  heart, 
reaping  the  rich  harvest  of  hopes,  and  dreams,  and  antici 
pated  joys,  with  which  he  had  beguiled  the  years  of  ab 
sence,  or,  even,  could  she  have  seen  the  expression  of  his 
face  ;  but  the  room  was  carefully  guarded  from  the  light, 
and  she  kept  on  until  he  interrupted  her  fiercely,  — 

"  How  dare  you  go  and  leave  her  thus  —  alone  —  you, 
to  whom  I  intrusted  her  —  my  poor  childish  Elsie  ?  The 
curse  of  a " 

The    old   dame  suddenly  interrupted  him;   and  there 


28  SIBYL. 

was  an  awful  sternness  in  her  voice  and  manner  as  she 
said, — 

"  Hush,  Arthur  Monroe !  Beware  how  you  charge  upon 
another  the  sin  and  folly  which  lies  at  your  own  door.  If 
you  would  take  to  your  arms  a  mere  child,  a  laby,  to  bear 
the  cares  and  duties  of  a  strong-hearted  woman,  you  should 
have  staid  with  her  yourself.  No  wise  man  leaves  a  lamb 
among  wolves,  or  a  dove  among  the  hawks." 

He  was  moved  by  her  manner,  and  said,  earnestly,  — 

"  Forgive  me,  Lydia ;  it  may  be  you  are  right ;  but  if 
you  could  only  have  staid  !  " 

Touched  by  his  distress,  she  said,  less  sternly,  — 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  went,  Arthur,  though  I  little 
thought  to  speak  of  this  subject  again.  Once  I  was  young 
like  you ;  and  like  you  I  made  to  myself  an  idol,  bowed 
down  to  it,  gave  it  all  that  woman  could  give,  and  was 
trampled  in  the  dust  beneath  its  feet ;  my  name  —  my 
father's  honest  name,  all  the  heritage  I  had  —  made  a  by 
word  for  shame  and  sin.  You  tremble  at  even  the  shadow 
of  disgrace  —  for  almost  forty  years  it  has  rested  on  me, 
and  —  "  her  voice  grew  low  and  tremulous,  —  "  it  was  the 
only  earthly  portion  of  my  child !  " 

"Your  child,  Lydia?" 

"  Yes,  my  child ;  dear  to  me  as  that  little  one  to  you. 
And  yet  I  shed  no  tears  when  it  died ;  not  because  I  was 
resigned  to  God's  will,  — for  even  then  I  was  ready  to  ques 
tion  both  his  wisdom  and  goodness,  —  but  because  it  was 
beyond  the  finger  and  taunt  of  scorn.  The  grave  takes  out 


AUNT   LYDIA'S   SECRET.  29 

all  moral  as  well  as  physical  taint.  At  that  time  your 
mother  stood  my  friend.  She  put  life  and  hope  into  me, 
for  she  believed  me ;  she  gave  me  shelter  and  countenance, 
and  it  was  no  slight  thing  that  would  have  led  me  to  desert, 
even  in  appearance,  the  trust  confided  to  me  by  her  child. 
But  three  weeks  ago  there  came  to  me  a  letter  saying  that 
my  —  that  the  man  who  gave  me  the  name  of  wife  when 
he  was  already  married  to  another,  and  whom  I  long 
supposed  dead,  was  dying  in  the  hospital  in  Boston ;  and 
'  He  who  executeth  judgment '  put  it  into  his  heart  for 
once  to  speak  the  truth.  He  sent  for  me,  and  in  the  pres 
ence  of  witnesses  proved  to  me  that  of  all  his  many  deluded 
victims,  I  alone  had  the  miserable  right  to  bear  his  name." 
Monroe  grasped  her  hand  in  silence,  while  she  added,  — 
"  Human  love  is  a  broken  reed  at  best,  my  boy,  and  this 
is  a  sore  welcome  for  you ;  but  remember,  there  is  One 
who  can  turn  all  our  sorrow  into  joy." 

Alas !  Monroe  had  none  of  her  strong  faith  in  an  over 
ruling  Providence,  which  blossomed  up  from  the  stern 
tenets  of  old  Calvinism  ;  so  he  turned  away  in  silence,  and 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  night  old  Lydia  heard  him 
pacing  the  floor  of  his  room  with  heavy  steps.  Of  what 
was  he  thinking  ?  ay,  of  what  did  he  think  ? 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  next  morning,  while  Monroe  stood  in  his  solitary 
parlor,  gazing  at  the  portrait  of  his  wife,  a  carriage  drove 
to  the  door.  He  hardly  heeded  it  until  his  wife's  voice  fell 
upon  his  ear.  She  rushed  past  the  servant  who  answered 
the  bell,  paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold  of  the  parlor, 
and  then,  with  a  cry  of  joyful  surprise,  threw  herself  into 
his  arms. 

"  O  Arthur,  dear  Arthur,  how  glad  I  am  to  welcome  you 
home!" 

Her  arms  were  clinging  about  his  neck,  her  head  nestling 
upon  his  breast,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  forgot  every 
thing  in  the  delicious  joy  of  reunion ;  then  he  gently  put 
aside  her  arms,  and  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  very  sad, 
almost  stern,  — 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Monroe,  as  you  are  the  latest  comer, 
it  is  I  that  should  welcome  you." 

That  tone,  without  the  title,  was  sufficient  to  teach  even 
Elsie  something  of  the  change  that  had  been  wrought  in 
her  husband  by  Ins  night's  vigil ;  and  hiding  her  face  on  his 
shoulder,  she  cried,  — 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  in  that  way  again,  Arthur  ;  in  pity 

(301 


THE     MEETING.  31 

don't !  I  was  so  lonely !  Cousin  Julia  wanted  me  to  go  so 
much  !  Indeed,  I  would  not  have  gone  for  worlds  had  I 
known  of  your  coming.  Say  you  will  pardon  me,  Arthur." 

He  felt  her  tears  upon  his  cheek,  and,  raising  her  head, 
he  returned  her  caresses,  as  he  sadly  recalled  old  Lydia's 
words. 

"  It  was  indeed  wrong  for  me  to  leave  you  so  long  alone, 
poor  child." 

"  I  knew  you  would  think  so,  Arthur,"  she  returned,  her 
face  brightening  into  smiles,  as  she  drew  him  to  a  seat  on 
the  sofa.  "  But  you  are  here  now,  and  we  will  forget  all 
those  tiresome,  disagreeable  months.  We  will  have  such 
nice  times, — you  and  I,  —  and  be  so  happy!  I  have  a 
delightful  plan.  But  how  solemn  you  look  ! — just  as  if 
you  were  not  really  glad  to  see  me,  after  all." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  our  child,  Elsie  ?  " 

"  Forgotten  her,  the  darling  !  No ;  how  odd  for  you  to 
think  so  !  She  is  such  a  little  beauty,  Arthur !  I  am  so 
proud  of  her !  I  believe  Julia  really  envies  me.  Her 
children  are  so  ordinary  looking !  How  the  doctor's  note 
frightened  me,  though  he  said  she  was  better !  I  could 
neither  eat  nor  sleep,  and  started  right  off  in  spite  of  cousin 
Julia,  with  a  gentleman  who  was  almost  a  total  stranger  to 
me.  "Was  not  I  brave,  Arthur  ?  It  is  so  dreadful  to  think 
that  wicked  girl  should  take  her  to  such  a  miserable  place, 
and  expose  her  to  scarlet  fever." 

"  Scarlet  fever  !  0  Elsie  ! "  And  remembering  the 
little,  swollen,  disfigured  face  upon  the  pillow,  up  stairs, 
Monroe  covered  his  face,  and  groaned  aloud. 


32  SIBYL. 

"  Arthur,"  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet,  "  what  is  it  ? 
Tell  me,  —  my  Sibyl,  my  darling,  —  is  she  dead  ?  " 

His  first  impulse  was  to  lead  her  to  the  child's  bedside ; 
but  one  glance  at  her  pale,  frightened  face  wrought  a 
softened  change  in  his  mood,  and,  again  seating  her  by  his 
side,  he  told  her  the  fearful  truth. 

"  Will  you  see  her  now,  Elsie  ?  "  he  asked,  mournfully. 
"  There  is  no  danger,  I  assure  you." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously,  as  if,  in  spite  of  his  assur 
ance,  there  was  certain  death  in  acceding  to  his  proposal ; 
and  yet  she  had  a  sort  of  dim  perception  that  it  was  not 
wise  to  refuse;  so,  taking  his  arm,  she  ascended  to  the 
chamber.  The  child  was  sleeping,  and  old  Lydia  silently 
stepped  aside  from  her  post  at  the  pillow,  to  allow  the 
parents  to  approach ;  but  at  the  first  sight  of  that  spotted, 
swollen  face,  the  poor  weak-nerved  mother  fainted.  Her 
husband  bore  her  from  the  chamber  in  his  arms,  and  the 
hysterical  paroxysms  that  followed  were  so  violent  that  even 
he  forbore  to  ask  her  to  repeat  the  visit. 

"  The  doctor  says  I  may  take  Sibyl  down  to-morrow,  if 
it  is  pleasant,  Mr.  Monroe,"  said  old  Lydia  Blair,  as  she 
met  him  in  the  hall,  one  day,  when  he  came  to  dinner. 

"  Bring  her  to  the  parlor  after  dinner,  then,  if  you  please, 
Lydia,"  was  the  reply. 

Elsie  sat  by  her  husband's  side,  winding  his  hair  about 
her  slender  fingers,  and  laughing  at  him  for  growing  old  and 
gray  before  his  time,  when  Lydia  entered,  leading  the  child 
by  the  hand. 


MOTHER     AND     CHILD.  33 

"  Mamma,  clear  mamma ! "  lisped  the  child,  letting  go  of 
her  old  friend's  hand,  and  tottering  with  feeble,  uncertain 
steps  towards  her  mother. 

Monroe  had  forgotten  to  tell  his  wife  of  his  order, 
who  caught  one  glance  of  the  disfigured  face,  and,  with  a 
quick,  sharp  cry,  and  a  gesture  of  surprise,  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  sank  upon  the  sofa. 

He  did  not  stoop  over  her  and  soothe  her  with  caresses 
this  time  ;  but  he  caught  the  little  girl  in  his  arms,  and, 
with  a  hasty  kiss  upon  the  little  face  turned  with  such  a 
bewildering  look  from  the  mother  to  him,  he  gave  her  back 
to  Lydia,  and  motioned  to  have  her  taken  away. 

"  And  so  you  treat  the  treasure,  snatched,  by  the  mercy 
of  God,  from  the  brink  of  the  grave,  you  selfish  woman ! 
The  wild  beasts  that  perish  show  more  feeling,"  muttered 
the  angry  old  woman,  as  she  turned  her  back  upon  the 
room.  "  The  day  may  come  when  you  may  stretch  out 
your  arms  for  help,  and  find  none  ready  to  support  you  but 
this  little  one  you  now  scorn.  God  be  with  you  then." 

The  mother  sobbed  convulsively,  but  her  husband  did  not 
heed  her.  He  turned  to  the  window,  and  looked  moodily 
out  a  while.  A  fountain  of  bitterness  had  been  opened  in 
his  heart,  and  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak  lest  it 
should  overflow.  Was  that  his  wife,  —  his  angel  wife,  — 
the  mother  of  his  child,  the  constant  thought  of  whom  had 
been  a  law  to  his  passionate,  impetuous  nature  amid  all  the 
temptations  of  Paris,  whose  image,  with  her  baby  in  her 
arms,  had  always  been  with  him  in  the  far-famed  galleries 
8 


34  SIBYL. 

of  the  old  world,  dimming,  with  its  living  warmth  and  fresh 
beauty,  the  finest  conceptions  of  the  Virgin  Mother  and  her 
Child? 

"  Arthur." 

He  turned,  and  Elsie  started  at  the  dark,  moody  face  that 
met  hers. 

"  I  could  not  help  it ;  indeed  I  could  not,  Arthur.  The 
change  is  so  sudden,  so  dreadful !  " 

His  face  softened.     "  Shall  I  send  for  her  again,  Elsie  ?  " 

"  0,  no !  Not  now.  I  cannot  bear  it.  I  am  still  so 
weak,"  she  cried,  with  a  shudder.  "  It  will  kill  me  !  How 
can  you  bear  to  look  upon  it,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  Bear  to  do  it,  Elsie  !  "  And  again  the  cold,  dark  look 
shadowed  his  face,  and  made  itself  felt  in  his  voice.  "  Bear 
to  do  it !  We  men,  I  believe,  have  little  credit  for  pai'ental 
devotion,  compared  to  that  of  women  ;  but  if  my  wife  could 
bear  to  make  my  child  what  she  is,  I  can  surely  bear  to  look 
upon  her." 

"  I,  Arthur  Monroe  !  I  make  her  what  she  is !  How 
unjust,  how  cruel,  when  you  know  it  was  all  the  doing  of 
that  wicked,  miserable  girl !  I  charged  her  expressly  to 
take  the  child  into  no  house  during  my  absence." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  Elsie ;  but  you  cannot  blame 
the  girl  for  following  the  example  of  her  mistress.  She 
doubtless  found  it  dull  and  lonesome.  O  my  wife,  how 
could  you  be  so  careless  of  our  child  ?  " 

Elsie  made  no  reply,  and  kept  on  weeping,  but  finally 
mingled  with  her  tears  half-muttered  reproaches  of  his  wish 


DISUNITED.  35 

to  sl'ut  her  up  alone  with  a  child,  while  he  was  enjoying 
himself  amid  all  the  gayeties  of  Parisian  life. 

He  turned  towards  her,  and  in  a  voice  so  deep  and  in 
tense  as  to  make  her  start,  said,  suddenly,  — 

"Enjoying  myself!  Yes,  I  did  enjoy  myself,  amid 
temptations  and  allurements,  the  power  of  which,  thank 
Heaven,  you  can  never  conceive !  Would  you  know  how  ? 
"With  a  dream  —  a  dream  of  a  wife  pure  as  Caesar's,  of  a 
mother  true  as  —  as  the  one  Avhose  memory  I  reverence ; 
of  a  child,  —  a  little,  tender,  beautiful,  helpless  bud,  rooted 
fast  in  the  heart  of  each.  I  kept  the  thought  of  these  ever 
before  me,  and  conquered  more  in  their  strength  than  my 
own.  I  toiled  for  them  early  and  late.  I  fed  my  hungry, 
homesick  heart  upon  the  thought  of  meeting  them, 
blessed  each  day  that  made  that  end  more  sure  and 
certain,  and  then,  when  the  time  came  —  O  Elsie ! 
Elsie ! " 

She  felt  the  sorrow,  the  disappointment,  the  anguish,  the 
shattered,  broken  hopes  that  shook  him,  and  made  his  voice 
tremulous  as  a  woman's.  She  could  not  help  feeling  them  ; 
and  O  that  she  had  yielded !  that  she  had  hidden  her 
face  in  her  husband's  bosom,  and  showed  him  her  whole 
heart — its  folly,  its  wilfulness,  its  weakness,  and  igno 
rance  !  0  that  she  had  remembered  old  Lydia  Blair's 
words — "Human  love  is  harder  to  keep  than  to  win,"  — 
and,  as  the  weakest,  —  the  one  to  whom  that  love  was  most 
a  necessity,  —  had  earnestly  whispered,  "  Forgive  !  "  Then 
might  she  have  been  taken  again  to  his  heart,  not  to  rule 


36  SIBYL. 

and  reign  there,  —  an  idol,  —  but  as  an  erring,  suffering 
companion,  to  walk  the  paths  of  life,  relying  on  his  firmness 
and  wisdom  to  guide  her  weary  steps,  until,  through 
patience  and  self-denial,  she  had  indeed  become  worthy  of 
the  shrine  where  his  boyish  love  had  so  blindly  placed  her. 

Would  that  she  had  been  wise  enough  to  know  that  such 
men  as  Monroe  seldom  plead  for  love  or  confidence  twice 
—  that  tears,  unless  springing  from  the  bitter  fountain  of 
repentance,  as  often  help  to  cement  the  hard  walls  of  di 
vision  as  to  soften  them ;  that,  in  some  moods,  they  are  the 
idlest  of  all  pleas.  But  she  remembered  only  their  power 
over  him  in  their  early  love  dream ;  and  so  she  hardened 
herself  against  his  anguished  tones,  and,  with  averted  face, 
still  wept  on. 

But  she  had  mistaken  her  power ;  no  arm  now  stole 
around  her ;  no  hand  gently  unclasped  hers,  and  kissed 
away  her  tears.  Arthur  Monroe  had  faced  the  world  since 
those  days,  and  he  was  in  no  mood  for  such  things.  He 
bade  her  a  simple  "  good  night,"  and  left  the  room.  She 
lifted  her  head  to  listen :  there  was  no  pausing  on  the 
threshold  —  no  irresolution  in  the  steps  that  crossed  the  hall, 
and  passed  slowly  up  the  stairs. 

Ay,  well  might  she  weep,  then,  tears  as  bitter  as  if  that 
familiar  door  had  been  a  grave,  to  thus  shut  out  her  hus 
band's  form ;  for  the  graves  of  the  heart  are  far  deeper  and 
colder  than  those  of  mother  earth.  Our  dead  we  bury  in 
hope,  but  for  love  scorned,  grieved,  and  misinterpreted  — 
for  that  there  is  no  resurrection. 


CHAPTER    V. 

So  died  out  "  love's  young  dream "  in  the  home  of  the 
Monroes,  and  life's  stern  realities  commenced,  all  the  colder 
and  harder  for  the  past  brightness. 

It  might  have  been  otherwise  with  a  man  of  different 
mould ;  but  Monroe  steeled  himself  against  further  disap 
pointment  by  shutting  himself  up  in  an  armor  .of  polite 
reserve.  It  was  difficult  for  Elsie  to  understand  this  change. 
It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  she  ever  did ;  but  she  felt 
it,  and  when  she  found  that  neither  tears  nor  caresses 
could  avail,  it  was  natural,  perhaps,  that  she  should  un 
consciously  connect  it  with  her  unfortunate  child. 

She  had  learned  to  fear  her  husband,  as  well  as  love  him, 
and  no  longer  ventured  to  object,  when  he  requested  that 
the  child  should  be  brought  in  to  dinner  every  day,  when 
they  were  alone  ;  for  even  he  shrank  from  hearing  his  own 
child  pitied  before  his  face.  His  sense  of  justice  exacted 
for  her  every  attention,  but  he  could  not  forget  the  past, 
and  her  face  only  too  sadly  reminded  him  of  what  now 
seemed  to  him  boyish  folly.  With  him,  therefore,  she  was 
pitied,  rather  than  beloved. 

So  that  little  pale,  silent  figure  sat  between  them  at  the 

(37) 


38  SIBYL. 

dessert,  day  after  day,  lifting  its  great  pleading  blue  eyes  to 
theirs,  in  which  they  read,  not  the  yearnings  of  an  earnest 
but  defrauded  nature,  but  only  silent  reproach. 

Then,  to  fill  up  the  dreary  void  in  their  home,  they  let  in 
the  gay  world,  which  in  return  pronounced  them  a  "  charm 
ing  couple,"  sometimes  querying,  with  a  yawn,  whether  the 
fascinating  Mrs.  Monroe  was  quite  at  her  ease  with  that 
quiet,  dignified  husband  of  hers. 

None  so  well  knew  the  true  state  of  affairs  as  old  Lydia 
Blair.  The  life  they  were  leading  seemed  to  her  little  bet 
ter  than  downright  sin,  and  half  in  anger  and  half  in  pity, 
she  mourned  over  them,  and  prayed  for  them,  while  she 
confined  herself  more  and  more  exclusively  to  her  room, 
and  guarded  her  little  charge  with  still  more  jealous  care. 
It  was  very  natural  that  she  should  feel  keenly  all  that 
touched  the  interest  or  well  being  of  the  child  whose  very 
helplessness  took  so  strong  a  hold  upon  her  heart,  and  she 
regarded  the  prospect  of  the  birth  of  another  child  with 
mingled  hope  and  fear  —  hope  that  the  fountain  of  pa 
rental  love,  thus  reopened,  might  overflow,  to  brighten  and 
bless  the  future  of  little  Sibyl,  and  a  fear  that  the  heart 
of  the  child,  thus  diverted,  might  leave  her  own  life  again 
desolate.  She  knew  this  last  feeling  was  selfish,  and  by  a 
strong  effort  of  her  will,  she  rooted  it  out,  and  was  enabled 
to  overcome  pain  in  thanksgiving,  when  she  saw  Arthur 
Monroe  lift  his  little  girl  in  his  arms,  and  bear  her  down 
stairs  to  see  her  baby  brother. 

"  The  Lord  be  thanked  it's  a  boy,  and  not  another  girl, 


THE    NEW    BABY.  39 

to  put  her  to  shame  for  other  folks'  sin.  He  may  right 
her  in  the  days  to  come ! "  she  muttered. 

To  Sibyl  the  advent  of  this  baby  was  a  never-to-be-for 
gotten  event.  She  would  sit  hours  by  the  cradle,  gazing,  in 
her  quiet,  thoughtful  way,  upon  its  tiny  features,  sometimes 
venturing  to  just  touch  its  soft  cheek  with  her  little  hand, 
as  if  to  satisfy  herself  that  it  really  was  a  thing  of  flesh  and 
blood. 

"  Look,  Arthur,  is  she  not  a  born  nurse  ? "  cried  the 
mother,  one  day,  as  she  pointed  to  the  little  silent  figure 
bending  over  the  cradle.  "  She  only  needs  a  cap  and  a 
tea  cup  to  make  the  picture  complete.  Who  ever  saw  such 
a  wise  look  on  such  a  child's  face  before  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  she  remembers  the  carelessness  of  her  own 
nurse,"  was  the  reply  —  the  thought  of  the  moment  uncon 
sciously  finding  vent  at  the  lips  ;  for  he,  too,  had  been  gaz 
ing  at  her,  and  painfully  contrasting  the  little  pale  face  with 
the  rosy,  beautiful  one  of  the  babe.  "  But  I  did  not  mean 
to  recur  to  this  topic,"  he  added,  seeing  his  wife's  reproach 
ful  look  ;  "  it  is  as  unwise  as  useless." 

It  was  not  so  much  his  words  as  the  cold,  reserved  air 
that  invariably  came  over  him  whenever  any  allusion  was 
made  to  this  topic,  that  touched  the  thoughtless  Elsie.  In 
her  joy  at  the  birth  of  her  boy,  she  had  almost  forgotten  the 
unhappy  circumstances  connected  with  her  other  child ;  she 
had  hoped  that  Arthur  would  do  the  same ;  but  his  words 
and  manner  now  came  like  a  frost,  blighting  all  her  gay 
hopes,  and  as  he  left  the  room,  unmindful  of  the  children, 
she  burst  into  tears. 


40  SIBYL. 

She  did  not  see  the  little  figure  drawing  slowly  near  the 
sofa  where  she  lay,  but  presently  a  little  soft  cheek  was  laid 
against  the  hand  that  covered  her  face,  and  a  pleading, 
childish  voice  said,  — 

"  Please  don't  cry,  mamma ;  Sibyl  hasn't  been  naughty ; 
she  hasn't  hurt  Willie  ; "  —  the  last  being  in  her  childish 
ethics,  the  very  height  of  wrong  doing. 

The  mother  started  at  her  touch,  and  pushing  her  ner 
vously  back,  said,  — 

"  There,  there  ;  I  am  not  angry.  Do  go  away,  child." 
Thus  repulsed,  the  child  turned  sadly  away,  and  with  one 
glance  at  the  cradle,  with  slow  steps  left  the  room.  She 
paused  in  the  doorway,  and  looked  timidly  back  to  her 
mother. 

What  was  there  in  that  little  shrinking  figure,  and  pale, 
patient  face,  that  for  one  moment  roused  all  the  mother  in 
that  spoiled  woman's  heart?  Was  it  that  the  pleading 
expression  in  the  soft  eyes  were  so  like  to  her  husband's  in 
the  early  days  of  their  love  dream  ?  Indeed,  they  were 
wonderfully  like  his  at  times.  Something  there  was,  for 
she  sprang  up,  and  was  about  to  call  her  back,  when  Willie 
moved  uneasily  in  his  cradle ;  and  flying  to  his  side,  she 
forgot,  in  soothing  and  caressing  him,  the  troubled  thought 
that  childish  glance  had  stirred. 

"  The  feet  of  the  avenging  deities  are  shod  with  wool," 
says  an  old  Greek  proverb  ;  but  for  all  that  their  footsteps 
are  not  less  sure,  nor  their  arrows  less  keen.  Years 
afterwards,  when  she  reaped  in  tears  the  harvest  of 


THE     ADVANCING     SHADOW.  41 

sorrow  and  neglect  which  she  had  so  carelessly  sown,  and 
began  to  know  the  worth  of  that  love  which  she  had  so 
lightly  cast  aside,  the  image  of  that  little  pale  child  would 
come  before  her  in  her  dreams,  and  the  silent  reproach  in 
those  great  dewy  eyes  was  far  harder  to  bear  than  the 
bitterest  of  words. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  SIBYL,  child,  come  here !  —  not  so  close  ;  I  can't  see 
you.  Stand  out  in  the  light  —  yonder  —  it  gets  so  dark 
—  so  dark." 

The  words  were  low,  spoken  at  intervals  with  great  dif 
ficulty,  so  different  from  the  quick,  sharp,  clear  tones  of 
old  Lydia  Blair,  as  we  knew  her  at  first ;  neither  was  the 
face  the  same,  for  as  she  lifted  herself  on  her  elbow,  and 
gazed  wistfully  at  her  darling,  who  stood  where  the  golden 
summer  sunlight  streamed  through  the  western  window, 
one  could  see  that  the  shadow  of  death  was  there. 

"  Yes,  you  are  like  her  —  my  old  friend,  Sibyl  Umber- 
field  —  your  father's  mother.  She  was  a  crown  of  glory 
to  her  husband,"  muttered  the  old  lady.  "  Like  her,  and 
for  her  sake  He  whom  she  served  will  keep  you,  child." 

Presently  she  beckoned  Sibyl  nearer,  and  peering  with 
sunken,  filmy  eyes  in  her  face,  she  said,  with  something  of 
her  old  sharp  tone,  — 

"  You  have  been  crying,  Sibyl !  —  what  for  ?  " 

Sibyl  blushed  and  averted  her  face,  as  she  pressed  the 
cold,  shrivelled  hand  tenderly  in  hers. 

"It's  nothing,  aunt  Lydia,  only  I  am  foolish,  as  you 

(42) 


ATJNTLYDIA.  43 

sometimes  say."     Then,  as  if  fearful  her  explanation  might 
not  prove  satisfactory,  she  went  on  hastily :  — 

"  I  promised  you  I  would  take  a  walk  to-day,  aunt 
Lydia.  If  you  would  like  Mrs.  Bryce  or  Jeanette  to  sit 
by  you,  I  will  run  down  to  the  moss  terrace,  and  see  the 
sun  set." 

"  Sun  set !  —  it's  dark  now,  child.  I  can  scarcely  see 
you." 

"  Not  quite ;  it  must  be  the  heavy  curtains  that  cast 
their  shadow  there,"  the  girl  replied  anxiously,  as  she  put 
back  the  drapery. 

Sending  the  nurse,  whose  office  she  made  a  mere  sine 
cure  during  the  day,  to  her  old  friend,  Sibyl  took  her  way 
through  the  beautiful  grounds  that  surrounded  her  father's 
stately  summer  home  on  the  bank  of  the  noble  Hudson ; 
for  Monroe  has  now  been  for  some  years  ranked  as  one  of 
New  York's  most  successful  merchants. 

Ay,  walk  slow  —  slower  still,  little  Sibyl ;  few  hearts  at 
ten  years  old  bear  a  heavier  burden  of  sorrow  than  yours ; 
—  so  heavy  as  almost  to  still  its  rapid  throbbing.  What 
was  it  the  housekeeper  said  to  the  nurse,  as  you  left  the 
room,  that  so  suddenly  blanched  your  cheek  and  gave 
shape  and  density  to  the  fearful  thought  which  has  some 
times  come  to  you  during  the  past  week,  and  from  which 
you  have  shrunk  back  with  such  trembling  and  horror  ? 
Ay,  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  look  upon  it  with 
joy  —  welcome  it  as  the  angel  who  is  to  lead  you  to  the 
"  boundless  regions  of  all  perfection ;  "  but  now  —  you  are 


44  SIBYL. 

but  a  child,  and  how  can  childhood  comprehend  the  mys 
tery  of  death  ? 

That  was  the  word.  They  said,  "  Lydia  Blair  was  on 
her  death  bed — she  could  hardly  live  a  week."  They 
have  no  need  to  tell  her  —  the  old  dame  knows  it ;  and 
all  through  the  Avatches  of  the  night,  she  strives  to  make 
grace  overcome  nature,  and  prays  earnestly  to  be  forgiven 
if  the  strong  yearning  to  be  with  you  and  guide  you  yet  a 
little  longer  be  a  weakness  of  the  flesh,  even  for  His  Son's 
sake.  Her  kind  old  heart  would  keep  it  from  you ;  but 
others  are  less  careful.  So  hasten  on,  Sibyl  —  never  mind 
the  crushed  flowers  or  the  merry  birds ;  music  and  fra 
grance  are  for  the  happy.  Hasten  on,  and  fling  yourself 
upon  that  mossy,  flower-starred  terrace,  your  mother's 
favorite  seat,  and  weep  as  only  lone,  neglected  little  chil 
dren  can  weep. 

Yet  tears  are  idle  here,  or  only  serve  to  swell  the 
waters  of  the  stream  of  death ;  they  cannot  take  one  grain 
from  the  heavy  burden  of  your  grief,  or  add  one  moment 
to  the  life  flickering  and  waning  in  yonder  chamber  —  noth 
ing  can.  Ah,  yes,  you  are  right,  little  one ;  wiser,  far,  in 
your  childish  faith  and  trust  than  we  in  our  worldly  wisdom ; 
so  kneel  down  there,  and  with  your  little  hands  uplifted 
pour  into  His  ear  the  sorrows  which  you  dare  not  whisper 
to  an  earthly  friend.  He  will  hear ;  for  hath  he  not  said, 
(many  and  many  a  time  has  old  Lydia  quoted  it,)  "  When 
thy  father  and  mother  forsake  thee,  lo,  I  will  take  thee 
up"? 


THKSUNSET.  45 

Thou  hast  found  comfort,  little  one ;  and  now  turn  your 
eyes  to  the  magnificent  landscape  before  you,  and  let  that 
preach  also  of  hope  and  peace. 

How  soft,  white,  and  peaceful  are  the  drifting  clouds 
that  mottle  the  sky  above !  how  exquisite  the  arrangement 
of  hill  and  dale,  with  its  music  and  fragrance  !  the  mighty 
river  sweeping  in  long,  majestic  reaches  to  the  ocean,  white 
with  the  sails  of  numberless  water  craft  —  an  ever-shifting 
panorama  set  in  a  framework  of  lofty  hills  ;  the  ceaseless 
play  of  clouds  and  shadows  ;  the  softened  sounds  of  busy 
life  floating  up  from  the  landing  below ;  and  best  of  all, 
there,  in  the  distance,  the  grand  old  Catskills,  overtowering 
all  their  brotherhood,  and  leaning  back  so  lovingly  against 
the  blue  sky,  with  the  sunset  resting  on  their  heads  like 
a  fire  baptism. 

O,  God  be  praised  for  the  hills  !  —  the  mighty  hills,  that 
fold  us  about  like  his  encircling  arm !  Silent,  immovable 
teachers !  how,  in  their  presence,  the  weak  heart  grows 
strong,  the  doubting  firm,  the  sick  and  sorrowing  comforted ! 
the  friendless  and  the  solitary,  the  wanderer  and  the  exile, 
gather  beneath  their  friendly  shelter,  and  are  no  longer 
alone.  They  are  God's  strongholds  of  truth  and  freedom  ; 
the  scene  of  the  transfiguration  and  the  crucifixion  ;  and 
remembering  this,  the  martyr  turns  to  them  his  dying  gaze, 
and  sees  no  more  the  faces  of  his  persecutors  —  sees  "  no 
man  save  Jesus  only."  O,  give  "thanks  for  the  hills. 

Sibyl  has  long  loved  them ;  and  as  she  sits  there  watch 
ing  their  golden  summits,  a  sense  of  support  and  protection 


46  SIBYL. 

steals  into  her  heart ;  their  strength,  which  we  know  is  His 
strength,  becomes  hers,  and  she  is  comforted.  Sometimes 
she  glances  at  the  steamer  coming  up  the  river,  and  hopes 
that  her  papa  and  mamma  and  brother  Willie  may  be  on 
board.  They  are  away  at  Rockaway,  and  she  fears  so 
much  that  they  will  not  come  before  that  time  —  and  she 
glances  back  at  the  window  of  old  Lydia's  room  and 
shudders. 

But  the  steamer  passes  on,  and  the  last  sunbeams  strike 
a  deep  gorge  in  the  mountains,  down  which  rushes  a  furious 
mountain  torrent.  It  reminds  you  of  the  legend  you  read 
the  other  day  in  your  father's  library,  Sibyl ;  so  linger  a 
little  longer  and  dream  it  over,  child ;  that  dark  cloud 
hiding  behind  the  old  "  Cro'  Nest "  will  not  reach  you  yet. 
It  is  a  monkish  tale  — "  an  invention  of  poor,  ignorant, 
deluded,  Popish  folks,"  old  Lydia  says,  but  nevertheless  full 
of  significance  and  beauty,  and  runs  thus  :  — 

Close  by  a  gorge  like  that  (you  felt  that  you  knew  the 
spot  when  you  read  it)  once  lived  a  mountaineer,  poor  and 
miserable,  and  wretched  in  all  outward  wealth,  but  richer 
than  his  lord  in  all  kind  deeds  and  gentle  humanities.  He 
had  built  his  hut  on  the  very  brink  of  the  torrent,  and 
sometimes  eked  out  his  scanty  means  of  subsistence  by 
assisting  some  adventurous  hunter  or  wandering  traveller 
across  the  stream. 

One  night,  when  a  week  of  rain  had  swollen  the  torrent 
to  an  unusual  height,  while  the  storm  still  raged  fearfully 
without,  and  the  forest  groaned  and  wailed  as  if  in  anguish 


THE     LEGEND.  47 

over  the  broken  and  uprooted  trees,  and  the  darkness  was 
so  thick  that  no  human  being,  nor  even  animal,  it  seemed, 
that  had  shelter  above  its  head,  would  venture  forth,  the 
poor  man  was  roused  by  a  traveller,  who  begged  him  to 
assist  him  in  fording  the  torrent,  saying,  at  the  same  time, 
that  he  had  neither  silver  nor  gold  wherewith  to  reward 
him. 

The  mountaineer  pointed  to  where,  through  the  murky 
darkness,  the  white  foam  of  the  waters  was  dimly  visible 
as  it  leaped  up  to  fight  the  storm,  and  tried  to  dissuade  the 
person  from  so  dangerous  an  undertaking,  offering  him 
such  food  and  shelter  as  his  cabin  afforded ;  but  the  trav 
eller  only  entreated  him  the  more  earnestly,  begging  him 
for  Christ's  sake  to  grant  his  request.  The  poor  man  could 
not  withstand  the  plea  made  in  that  holy  name ;  so  he  led 
him  some  rods  above  to  the  safest  ford,  and  taking  him 
upon  his  shoulders,  boldly  plunged  into  the  stream.  Amid 
the  darkness,  stumbling  against  rocks,  many  times  losing 
his  foothold  amid  the  furious  waters,  he  struggled  on  until 
at  last  he  gained  the  opposite  bank  in  safety.  Then,  for 
one  moment,  a  crown  of  dazzling  light  encircled  the  head 
of  the  traveller,  making  the  wild  scene  distinctly  visible ; 
and  as  the  darkness  again  closed  round  him,  he  heard  a 
voice,  coming  as  it  were  from  the  clouds  above  him,  of 
most  heavenly  sweetness,  saying,  — 

"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these 
little  ones,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

And  the  poor  man  fell  on  his  face  in  deep  awe  and 


48  SIBYL. 

gratitude,  for  he  knew  then  it  was  the  blessed  Lord  himself 
who  had  thus  condescended  to  test  his  faith  and  obedience. 

This  story  made  a  deep  impression  upon  Sibyl,  and  she 
sits  often  as  now,  thinking  how  blessed  must  have  been  the 
lot  of  that  poor  man,  thus  to  have  borne  the  burden  of  the 
Lord. 

She  is  but  a  child,  and  feels  the  great  truth  that  underlies 
the  legend  but  in  part ;  she  has  yet  to  learn  that,  sooner  or 
later,  the  same  opportunity  comes  to  all  who  li ve  —  that 
before  many  months  it  will  come  to  her ;  and  though  she 
may  not  see  the  "  glory,"  its  light  will  be  in  her  heart  and 
upon  her  path  forevermore. 

"  Sibyl,"  murmured  old  Lydia,  an  hour  or  two  later, 
"  where  are  you,  child  ?  I  do  not  see  you." 

Sibyl  crept  still  closer  to  the  pillow,  and  folded  still  closer 
the  stiffening  hand,  as  she  said,  — 

"  You  are  getting  so  cold,  aunt  Lydia  ;  let  me  call  Mrs. 
Bryce,  and  order  something  warm  for  you." 

"  No ;  don't  fetch  that  woman  here.  I  shall  be  better 
soon  —  better." 

Sibyl  believed  her,  and  sat  quietly  by  her  side,  while  her 
old  friend  looked  so  wistfully  —  0,  so  wistfully  in  her  face, 
and  her  lips  murmured  inaudibly. 

At  last  the  listening  child  caught  the  burden  of  the  peti 
tion  so  often  offered  for  her,  — 

"  Not  that  thou  shouldst  take  her  out  of  the  world,  O 
Father,  but  that  thou  shouldst  keep  her  from  the  evil." 

Then  followed  wandering  words,  names  of  places  and 


AUNT    LYDIA'S    DEATH.  49 

persons  which  were  quite  strange  to  the  child,  until  sud 
denly  the  old  dame  roused  herself,  and  bade  her  draw  the 
curtain  and  let  in  the  sunlight. 

"  There  is  no  sunlight,  dear  aunt  Lydia,"  said  the  half- 
frightened  child.  "It  is  night,  and  even  the  moon  is 
covered  by  a  thick  black  cloud,  and  —  hark  !  —  hear  the 
thunder." 

"  Sibyl,  how  dare  you  say  there  is  no  sunlight  when  it 
shines  on  the  bank  yonder  just  as  it  used  to  down  at  Eltham 
—  on  the  bank  under  my  mother's  bedroom  window.  The 
grass  isn't  so  green  as  it  used  to  be,  and  the  sea  pinks  and 
roses  —  I  wonder  if  they  will  be  blown  out  when  we  get 
there  ?  " 

"  Get  where,  aunt  Lydia  ?  " 

She  did  not  reply,  and  the  instant  after  there  came  a 
loud  clap  of  thunder,  which  caused  the  girl  to  bury  her  face 
in  the  bed  clothes  in  fear.  But  it  roused  the  dying  woman ; 
she  started  half  way  up,  and  supporting  herself  on  her 
elbow,  said,  with  much  of  her  old,  distinct  enunciation,  — 

"  Hark  !  the  voice  of  the  Lord  is  upon  the  waters  ;  the 
God  of  glory  ihundereth ;  the  Lord  breaketh  the  cedars 
of  Lebanon  ;  the  Lord  shaketh  the  wilderness  of  Kadesh.  " 

"  Sing,  child,"  she  murmured,  as  she  sank  back  upon  her 
pillows,  "  the  song  of  the  Psalmist  when  nigh  unto  death. 
Not  those  words,"  she  added,  as  the  terrified  child  com 
menced  the  modern  version  of  the  twenty-third  psalm,  "the 
old  words  —  my  mother's  words." 
4 


50  SIBYL. 

Thus  reminded,  Sibyl  began  the  old  Scottish  version 
which  Lydia  always  sung,  — 

"  The  Lord's  my  Shepherd ;  I'll  not  want ; 

He  makes  me  down  to  lie 
In  pastures  green  ;  he  leadeth  me 

The  quiet  waters  by. 
Yea,  though  I  walk  in  Death's  dark  vale, 

Yet  will  I  fear  no  ill ; 
For  thou  art  with  me ;  and  thy  rod 

And  staff  me  comfort  still ! 
Goodness  and  mercy  all  my  life 

Shall  surely  follow  me ; 
And  in  God's  house  forevermore 

My  dwelling  place  shall  be." 

Faintly,  slowly,  tremulously,  as  if  breaking  through  tears, 
the  strain  rose  at  first ;  but  the  words  brought  comfort  to 
the  childish  heart,  strength  to  her  voice.  The  old  dame 
lay  with  hands  folded  across  her  breast,  listening  and 
gazing  until  her  lids  slowly  closed  over  the  dim  eyes  to  be 
raised  again  no  more  on  earth. 

She  had  crossed  the  torrent ;  but  the  child  did  not  know 
it,  for  she  still  sang  on,  while  the  thunder  mattered  and  the 
faint  twilight  faded  stealthily  away,  as,  more  conscious  than 
the  singer,  it  felt  the  presence  of  the  shadowy  conqueror 
there. 

An  hour  later,  the  terrified  nurse  roused  the  whole 
household  by  her  shrieks  ;  and  upon  entering  the  chamber 
they  found  the  dead  body  of  old  Lydia  and  the  child  lying 
in  a  swoon  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN  this  shifting  drama  of  life,  there  is  no  prompter  to  for 
gotten  or  neglected  duty  like  death.  Few  have  the  hardi 
hood  to  slight  his  teachings,  and  Arthur  Monroe  turned 
from  the  grave  of  the  faithful  friend  of  his  house  for  three 
generations,  to  the  bedside  of  his  sick  and  suffering  little 
daughter,  with  a  sad  and  sorrowful  heart. 

At  thirty-five,  the  world  quotes  him  as  a  very  successful 
man ;  and  according  to  its  factitious  standard,  the  judgment 
is  correct.  Few  men  of  his  native  energy  of  mind  wholly 
fail  when  they  devote  themselves  to  a  given  end,  and  in  the 
exciting  game  of  speculation  into  which  he  threw  himself, 
when  his  early  dream  of  a  domestic  paradise  vanished,  he 
has  won  that  most  worthless  of  all  the  husks  with  which 
man  has  attempted  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  his  soul  —  a 
reputation  for  great  wealth.  But  the  hard  wall  of  cold 
reserve  between  him  and  his  wife  —  that  had  only  become 
the  harder  for  the  glitter  which  fell  upon  it  from  without. 

O,  these  cold,  hard,  impalpable,  but  impregnable  barri 
ers  which  pride,  and  will,  and  wrong  unacknowledged  and 
unforgiven,  build  up  between  hearts  that  should  be  one ! 
How  they  darken  the  light  on  our  hearth  stones,  and  shelter 

(51) 


52  SIBYL. 

the  demon  of  unrest !  From  divisions  like  these,  let  our 
litany  be,  "  Good  Lord,  deliver  us  ! " 

We  are  accustomed  to  look  forward  to  the  fulfilment  of 
the  prophecy  of  the  most  sublime  of  the  prophet-priests  — 
"  The  lion  shall  lie  down  with  the  lamb,  and  a  little  child 
shall  lead  them,"  as  a  miracle.  But  to  the  thoughtful  soul 
this  miracle  is  old  as  time,  for  there  are  many  lion-like  na 
tures,  strong  in  pride,  and  passion,  and  self-will,  which  none 
but  a  little  child  can  lead ;  and  when  we  see  such  yielding 
to  their  gentle  touch,  we  cannot  fail  to  recognize  the  guiding 
hand  of  God. 

It  was  thus,  to  some  extent,  with  Monroe.  The  sweet, 
guileless  nature  of  his  child  permeated  his  cold  armor  of 
reserve,  and  he  had  not  passed  many  hours  by  her  side, 
before  something  of  his  old  genial  humor  awoke  within  him, 
and  made  itself  felt  by  those  around  him. 

"  What  have  you  here,  Sibyl  ?  "  he  asked,  one  day,  taking 
a  richly-bound  volume  from  the  lounge,  where  she  lay  look 
ing  dreamily  out  towards  the  friendly  mountains  —  "a  new 
book?" 

"  Yes,  and  a  pretty  one,  too ;  mamma  bought  it  for  me 
yesterday,  in  the  city.  It  was  very  kind  in  her  to  think  of 
me,  wasn't  it,  papa?" 

"  Why  so,  Sibyl  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  stood  for  a  second, 
gazing  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  curiosity  and  interest  in 
the  small  animated  face. 

"  O,  because  mamma  has  so  much  to  do,  and  so  many 
things  to  think  of,  when  she  goes  to  town.  Madame  La- 


A     BETTER     MOMENT.  53 

frage  disappointed  her  sadly  about  her  dress  yesterday ;  and 
besides,  she  was  forced  to  go  all  over  town  before  Willie 
could  find  such  fishing  tackle  as  suited  him.  She  was  so 
weary  when  she  reached  home  —  poor  mamma ! " 

Had  it  been  Elsie  herself  speaking,  he  would  probably 
have  turned  indifferently  away,  or  expressed  his  sense  of 
the  importance  of  her  business  by  a  polite  but  pointed  sar 
casm.  But  now  he  was  silent  a  moment ;  then  seating  him 
self  by  her  side,  asked  which  of  the  stories  in  her  new  book 
he  should  read  to  her. 

"  Read,  papa !  you  read  to  me ! " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  eager  surprise.  "  One 
would  suppose,  by  your  manner,  that  you  doubt  my  ability 
to  read." 

"  O,  no,  not  that ;  I  know  better,  for  aunt  Lydia  told  me 
what  an  excellent  reader  you  were  when  a  little  boy ;  but  I 
thought  —  you  are  always  too  busy,  papa,  to " 

"  To  enjoy  myself,"  he  added,  seeing  her  hesitate  ;  "  but 
I  am  at  leisure  for  a  half  hour,  now  ;  so  which  shall  it  be  ?  " 

The  volume  was  a  collection  of  fairy  tales,  and  Sibyl 
selected  the  old  one  of  "  Beauty  and  the  Beast." 

Monroe  had  not  seen  it  for  many,  many  years,  and,  as 
he  read  on,  there  came  with  every  page,  almost  with  every 
paragraph,  some  memory  of  his  boyhood,  and  he  would  pause 
to  tell  the  eager  listener  stories  and  anecdotes  of  those  days, 
or  give  sketches  of  his  brother  George,  his  schoolmates,  the 
old  teacher,  and  the  school  house,  and  the  mill  pond ;  and, 
thus  illustrated,  the  tale  was  ever  afterwards,  to  Sibyl,  one  of 


54  SIBYL. 

the  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  in  the  world.  When  it 
was  finished,  the  child  said,  thoughtfully,  — 

"  Beauty  must  have  been  very  happy.  It  is  a  great 
blessing  to  be  beautiful,  isn't  it,  papa  ?  —  beautiful,  like 
mamma  ?  " 

It  was  some  seconds  before  Monroe  answered,  and  the 
change  which  came  over  his  face,  accustomed  as  he  was  to 
control  his  emotions,  half  frightened  the  child. 

Of  what  was  he  thinking  ?  Of  the  free  criticisms  upon 
the  beauty  of  his  wife's  face  and  figure,  which  fell  from  the 
lips  of  two  young  naval  officers,  as  he  entered  the  brilliant 
ball  room  of  Mrs.  Van  Lenness,  a  few  nights  since,  to  es 
cort  her  home  —  a  duty  which,  as  yet,  his  own  self-respect 
allowed  him  neither  to  omit  nor  delegate  to  any  one  else  ? 
Or  did  there  rise  before  him  a  vision  of  the  splendid 
salon  at  A.'s,  with  its  Oriental  luxuriance  of  fixtures,  and 
its  crowd  of  wealthy,  out-of-door  respectabilities,  among 
whom  he  so  frequently  forgot  family  and  fortune  in  the 
excitement  of  the  gaming  table  ? 

It  is  hard  to  say ;  but  he  started,  as  the  small,  outstretched 
hands  touched  his. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  papa ;  I  did  not  mean  any  wrong.  I 
forgot.  Aunt  Lydia  always  told  me  it  was  wrong." 

"  What  was  wrong,  child  ?  "  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"  To  wish  to  be  beautiful,"  she  replied,  timidly. 

He  looked  a  moment  at  the  anxious  face,  and  the  blue 
eyes  in  which  the  great  tears  gathered,  but  did  not  fall,  — 
for  Sibyl  seldom  wept  passionately,  like  Willie,  but  silently, 
inwardly,  one  might  say, —  and  thru  said,  fervently, — 


SIBYL     AND     HER     FATHER.  55 

"  It  is  much  better  to  be  good,  Sibyl." 

Her  face  lighted  in  an  instant.  "  That  is  what  aunt 
Lydia  always  said.  I  wonder  I  came  to  forget  it." 

"  You  miss  our  kind  old  friend  very  much  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa ;  at  first  it  was  so  lonesome  without  her ; 
but  now  she  comes  so  often  that  it  is  quite  different." 

"  Comes  so  often  !  "     He  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"  Yes  —  in  my  dreams,  I  mean ;  and  she  looks  so  nat 
ural  ;  it  seems  as  if  she  had  never  died,  and  been  buried." 

"  Does  she  ever  speak  to  you  ?  "  he  asked,  curiously. 

«  Yes." 

"  And  what  does  she  say  ?  " 

"  0,  sometimes  one  thing,  and  sometimes  another.  Last 
night " 

"  Well,  what  last  night  ?  " 

"  Only  a  text  from  the  Bible,  which  she  used  to  repeat." 

He  saw  she  hesitated,  and,  half  curious  and  half  amused, 
he  pursued  the  topic. 

"  What  was  it  ?     Can  you  remember  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  ;  she  taught  it  to  me  when  I  was  a  very  little 
girl,  not  higher  than  your  knee,  papa  — '  When  my  father 
and  mother  forsake  me,  the  Lord  will  take  me  up.' " 

Monroe  started ;  but  the  child,  unobservant  of  his  move 
ment,  added,  — 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,  papa." 

And  the  father  bowed  his  face,  as  he  answered,  — 

"  I  trust  you  never  will,  Sibyl.  Plow  like  you  are  to  my 
mother!"  he  added,  a  moment  after,  as  he  lifted  her  to  his 
knee. 


56  SIBYL. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  asked,  her  face  radiant  with  happiness. 

"  Yes  ;  the  resemblance  deepens  every  day." 

"  You  loved  your  mother  very  much  indeed,  papa  ?  "  she 
asked,  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes." 

a  Then  I  am  so  glad  to  be  like  her  !  "  she  cried,  folding 
her  small  hands  over  each  other  —  a  way  she  had  when 
very  happy. 

"You  are!     Why  so?" 

"  Because "  She  faltered,  and  looked  anxiously  in 

his  face. 

"  Because  what  ?  " 

"  Because,  if  I  am  like  her,  you  may  love  me  very  much 
some  time  —  when  I  learn  to  be  better." 

She  did  not  see  his  face,  but  she  felt  his  kiss  upon  her 
forehead,  —  almost  the  first  which  she  remembered,  —  and 
she  heard  his  low  — 

"  I  will  —  I  do  love  you  now,  my  child." 

She  was  ten  years  old  ;  and  in  all  the  sorrowful  changes 
that  filled  up  the  coming  years,  she  never  forgot  that  hour. 

It  was  not  often  that  Monroe  showed  his  heart  to  her 
thus  ;  but  sometimes  he  questioned  her  of  her  reading,  and 
one  midsummer  evening,  when  the  pale  sheet  lightning  lit 
up  the  landscape  without,  and  gave  them  spectral  glimpses 
of  the  hills,  she  told  him  "  the  legend  of  the  torrent." 

"  I  think  he  must  have  been  a  very  happy  man  —  that 
poor  mountaineer,  papa,"  she  said,  seeing  that  he  remained 
silent. 

Did  he  fancy  the  pale  light  that  gleamed  into  the  room, 


AN     INTRUSION.  57 

and  lit  up  her  pale  face  as  she  spoke,  akin  to  that  which 
had  glanced  around  the  brow  of  the  traveller  in  the  legend  ? 
Perhaps  so ;  perhaps  he  would  have  spoken  his  thought  in 
words  that  would  have  remained  with  her  as  blessings ; 
but  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Monroe  put  her  head  in  at  the 
door,  saying, — 

"  Sibyl,  Jane  says  the  Bacons  are  below.  They  want  to 
hear  that  new  music  I  brought  from  town  ;  you  must  come 
down  and  play  it ;  Eckert  says  you  have  it  perfect,  while  I 
have  not  practised  a  note." 

Then,  suddenly  becoming  aware  of  the  presence  of  her 
husband,  she  added, "  Why,  Mr.  Monroe,  (she  seldom  called 
him  Arthur  now,)  I  believe  you  have  really  turned  nurse  in 
good  earnest,  though  I  never  gave  you  credit  for  much  taste 
that  way." 

"  People's  tastes  change,  as  perhaps  you  may  have  ob 
served,  Mrs.  Monroe,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  as  he  left  the 
room  by  another  door. 

Sibyl  looked  after  him  with  a  troubled  expression  a  mo 
ment, —  then  said, — 

"  Please  don't  speak  so  any  more,  mamma.  Papa  does 
not  like  to  be  teased,  and  I  enjoy  seeing  him  so  much.  He 
knows  so  many  beautiful  stories  !  " 

"  Does  he  ? "  and  for  a  moment  Elsie's  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  time  when  his  words  could  magnetize  even  her 
careless  nature  ;  and  she  added,  — 

"  Well,  I  will  not,  then ;  but  you  need  not  look  so  sol 
emn,  child.  I  do  wish  you  would  be  a  little  gayer  —  more 
like  other  folks." 


58  SIBYL. 

"  More  like  other  folks  !  "  That  was  what  Willie  always 
said ;  what  the  servants  said ;  and  what  she  overheard  her 
friend,  Julia  Simmons,  say  to  her  brother  Charles.  There 
must  be  something  which  she  lacked.  What  could  it  be  ? 
Musing  over  this  query,  the  child  grew  daily  more  quiet  and 
thoughtful. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  WHAT  is  all  this,  Sibyl  ?  How  can  you  be  so  pas 
sionate  ?  Give  him  the  paper  at  once.  You  are  so  selfish 
that  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

Sibyl  stood  on  a  chair,  with  her  cheeks  flushed  with  ex 
citement,  while  she  strove  to  keep  beyond  Willie's  reach  a 
drawing,  which  he  was  struggling  to  obtain,  while  her 
pencils  and  crayons  were  trampled  beneath  his  feet,  when 
Mrs.  Monroe  entered  the  room. 

"  There,  miss,  I  told  you  mamma  would  make  you  give 
it  to  me,"  he  cried,  exultingly.  "  Let  me  have  it,  you 
selfish  thing ! " 

"  Hush,  my  son  ;  you  must  not  be  so  rude.  Give  him 
the  picture,  Sibyl.  How  can  you  bear  to  tease  him  so 
about  such  a  trifle  ?  " 

"  I  drew  it  for  papa,"  she  said,  as  she  slowly  approached, 
and  laid  the  contested  sketch  in  her  mother's  hand. 

"  Pshaw !  what  does  he  care  about  such  things !  You 
can  make  a  dozen  more.  Why,  it  is  the  view  from  the 
window  of  your  room,"  continued  the  mother,  examining 
the  drawing.  "  The  mountains  and  that  deep  ravine  are 
well  done.  Legendre  says  you  have  a  good  deal  of  talent 

(59) 


60  SIBYL. 

for  drawing.  Now,  Master  Willie,  why  do  you  want 
it?" 

"  Because  I  choose  to  have  it,  and  she  said  I  should  not. 
And  I  promised  to  give  a  picture  to  Bill  Jones,  to  pay  for 
one  of  his  that  I  spoiled." 

«  Spoiled  !     How  ?  " 

"  Threw  water  upon  it  with  my  syringe.  His  aunt  gave 
it  to  him,  and  he  was  carrying  it  home." 

"  O  "Willie  !  But  you  are  generous,  you  little  mischief 
—  ready  to  atone  for  your  misdeeds.  Sibyl  will  give  you 
the  picture ;  but  you  must  not  play  so  much  with  that 
Jones  boy.  They  are  low-bred,  vulgar  people." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that.  We  have  capital  fun  down  there. 
Tell  John  to  saddle  Helpie,  and  bring  him  round  to  Charley 
Simmons's  in  an  hour.  We  are  going  to  ride,"  he  cried,  as, 
seizing  the  picture,  he  bounded  away. 

"  He  is  so  spirited ! "  said  the  mother,  gazing  after  him 
proudly. 

Thus,  through  the  neglect  of  the  father  and  the  weak 
partiality  of  the  mother,  the  elder  of  these  children  was 
made  to  serve  the  younger.  If  they  were  going  to  ride,  it 
was  often,  — 

"  Sibyl,  Willie  wishes  to  take  up  Charley  Simmons  and 
his  sister  Julia,  or  Henry  Drake :  you  won't  mind  staying 
at  home  just  this  once,  to  oblige  him?  You  don't  care  to 
go,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  much ;  or,  not  very  much,"  was  the  usual  reply. 
But  had  her  mother  been  less  absorbed  in  Willie,  she  would 


TROUBLE     AND     OKI  ME.  61 

not  have  failed  to  understand  something  of  the  feeling  which 
prompted  it.  Indeed,  these  answers  were  a  troublesome 
point  of  ethics  with  Sibyl.  She  did  care  ;  for  out-of-door 
life  was  her  delight ;  and  her  reverence  for  the  truth, 
developed  and  strengthened  by  old  Lydia's  teachings,  made 
her  feel  that  she  was  guilty  of  falsehood  in  speaking  thus. 
But  her  mother  never  waited  for  explanations,  even  had 
she  dared  to  make  them.  It  was  taken  for  granted  that  no 
one  would  hesitate  to  oblige  Willie,  and  so  the  child 
struggled  alone  with  her  feelings,  thinking  that  she  must, 
indeed,  be  very  selfish,  as  her  mother  often  said,  to  entertain 
them  at  all,  and  that  this  was  the  reason  why  she  was  not 
"  like  other  people." 

"When  Sibyl  was  thirteen,  there  came  in  the  business 
world  one  of  those  disastrous  changes  to  which  the  system 
of  reckless  speculation  and  extravagance  inevitably  leads. 
Arthur  Monroe  was  one  of  the  first  to  feel  its  effect.  A 
great  proportion  of  his  wealth  had  been  merely  nominal ; 
but  few  suspected  the  truth.  His  calm,  dignified  bearing 
had  helped  to  deceive  the  crowd,  and  even  some  of  his 
oldest  friends ;  and  none  knew  the  dark  temptations  which 
beset  him  when  alone  in  his  counting  room  —  temptations 
against  which  he  struggled  less  and  less,  as  his  embarrass 
ments  thickened,  until  the  evil  triumphed.  He  forged  the 
name  of  one  who  had  trusted  him ;  but  this  only  involved 
him  also  in  his  ruin,  and  he  was  obliged  to  hide  not  only 
from  his  creditor.-;,  but  from  a  prison, 

The    family  were  at  Underwood,    their  summer  house, 


62  SIBYL. 

upon  the  Hudson,  and  the  first  intimation  his  wife  had  of 
his  failure  was  the  seizure  of  her  horses  and  carriage  for 
debt,  on  her  return  one  day  from  making  some  calls  in 
Newburg.  Indignant  at  what  she  deemed  an  insulting 
mistake,  without  waiting  to  hear  the  explanation  of  the 
officers  of  the  law,  she  entered  the  house,  where  the  sight 
of  strange  faces,  and  the  words  of  the  garrulous  servants, 
taught  her  that,  at  least,  there  was  no  mistake.  She  had 
but  one  thought :  it  was  Willie  ;  and,  flinging  herself  upon 
a  couch  in  her  own  room,  she  bemoaned  his  fate  with 
hysterical  violence. 

"  Mamma,  dear  mamma,  God  will  take  care  of  him  and 
of  us,"  said  a  soft,  sweet  voice,  and  Sibyl's  hand  was  laid 
lightly  on  her  shoulder. 

She  did  not  uncover  her  face  ;  but  she  allowed  the  small 
arm  to  steal  around  her  neck  unhindered,  and  wept  herself 
quiet  upon  that  childish  support. 

"  Do  you  understand  what  all  this  means,  child  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Not  very  clearly,  mamma ;  only  that  papa  has  some 
trouble  about  his  business.  I  have  known  that  for  some 
time." 

"  You  have ! "  There  was  both  pique  and  surprise  in 
her  tone,  and  she  half  raised  herself  up  as  she  added, 
"  Has  your  father  made  a  confidant  of  you  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma  ;  but  you  see  I  am  a  quiet  body.  You 
said  one  day  I  was  just  like  a  mouse,"  she  replied,  with  an 
attempt  at  cheerfulness,  "and  I  mind  many  things  that 


CHILD     AND     WOMAN.  63 

escape  you,  who  are  always  so  much  occupied.  Papa  has 
looked  to  me  of  late  as  if  something  troubled  him ;  and 
some  nights,  when  he  has  been  at  home  with  us,  I  do  not 
think  he  has  slept  at  all.  His  room  is  next  to  mine,  you 
know,  and  I  could  hear  him  pacing  back  and  forth  all  night 
long." 

She  did  not  say  that  she  had  crept  stealthily  to  his  door 
more  than  once,  when  he  had  come  home  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  unsteady  steps,  and  how  her  heart  had  ached 
as  she  saw  him  pour  from  the  decanter,  on  the  table,  large 
glasses  of  brandy,  and  swallow  it.  She  did  not  tell  how, 
fearing  that  he  was  ill,  she  had  once  ventured  to  enter  his 
room,  and  her  gentle  query  had  been  met  with  an  oath  and 
a  harsh  command  to  "  begone,  and  mind  her  own  business." 
She,  better  than  any  one  else,  knew  the  habit  that  was 
ruining  him ;  but  she  looked  resolutely  away  from  these 
bitter  memories  to  the  few  pleasant  hours  that  stood  out  so 
brightly  in  her  life. 

"  It  may  be,  but  I  had  not  noted  it,"  said  the  mother. 
"But  what  shall  we  do,  Sibyl?  What  do  these  horrid 
people  say  ?  Is  there  no  getting  rid  of  them  ?  "  she  added, 
with  a  look  of  helpless  anxiety. 

"  I  fear  not,  mamma.  I  do  not  know  much  about  such 
things ;  but  they  say  the  house  is  ours  no  longer.  I  think 
we  had  best  send  for  Judge  Simmons  ;  he  can  tell  us  what 
to  do." 

At  that  moment  the  housekeeper  entered,  bringing  some 
articles  of  dress,  and,  with  a  significant  look,  placed  a  note 


64  SIBYL. 

in  Mrs.  Monroe's  hand,  saying,  in  a  whisper,  "John 
brought  it  up  this  noon,  but  I  could  get  no  chance  to  give  it 
to  you,  ma'am." 

It  was  from  her  husband.  The  words  were  few  and 
almost  illegible ;  but  he  begged  her  to  secure  certain  papers 
which  were  in  a  drawer  of  the  bookcase,  in  that  room,  and 
bring  them  herself,  or  send  Sibyl  with  them  to  New  York 
as  soon  as  possible. 

"  You  know  all  by  this  time,  Elsie,"  it  ran  ;  "  so  I  need 
not  multiply  words.  Take  the  six  o'clock  boat  down.  A 
carriage  will  be  in  waiting  for  you,  driven  by  our  old  coach 
man  George.  He  will  bring  you  to  my  present  place  of 
shelter.  You  had  best  come  yourself,  if  you  can,  for  there 
is  much  to  be  said  between  us.  Confide  in  Sibyl ;  I  think 
she  can  help  you  much.  Heaven  bless  her !  " 

There  was  no  name  ;  and  Elsie  read  and  re-read  the  note, 
and  finally  placed  it  in  Sibyl's  hand,  with  a  hopeless  sigh. 
She  comprehended  it  at  once,  and  the  words  of  blessing 
gave  her  strength  and  hope.  She  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  It  is  a  quarter  past  five  now.  The  '  Knickerbocker ' 
will  be  at  the  landing  by  six.  You  can  be  quite  ready  by 
that  time.  Can  you  walk  down,  mamma  ?  " 

Elsie  stared  at  her  in  blank  astonishment. 

"  Are  you  mad,  child  ?  You  talk  as  if  I  had  the  strength 
of  a  giant,  when  I  can  scarcely  stand.  I  shall  never  reach 
the  landing.  What  if  some  of  these  dreadful  people  should 
follow  me,  or  I  should  meet  any  of  our  friends  !  I  should 
die  of  shame.  If  it  were  not  for  poor  Willie,  I  would  not 


ELSIE'S   DEPARTURE.  65 

care  how  soon.  Poor  boy !  Plow  glad  I  am  he  is  away  at 
school !  It  would  kill  him  to  be  here."  And  she  again  sank 
down  and  began  to  sob. 

"  Sibyl's  lip  trembled  slightly,  as  she  said,  after  a 
pause,  — 

"  I,  too,  am  glad  Willie  is  away.  But  you  will  try  to 
go,  for  his  sake,  mamma.  Perhaps  it  is  about  him  that 
papa  wishes  to  see  you.  These  people  will  not  follow,  or 
even  see  you,  unless  we  choose  to  have  them.  You  can 
step  from  these  Avindows  upon  the  lawn,  and  the  althea 
walk  will  conceal  you  until  you  reach  the  high  road ;  or, 
would  you  prefer  to  have  me  go  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  will  try,  though  I  haven't  the  strength  of  a  fly. 
You  are  just  like  your  father,  Sibyl :  nothing  moves  you," 
she  added,  as,  without  making  the  slightest  effort  to  further 
the  arrangements  for  her  journey,  she  watched  the  move 
ments  of  her  daughter,  as  she  glided  here  and  there  for  the 
various  articles  of  dress. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  mamma  ?  "  she  replied,  with  a  smile, 
as  she  assisted  her  to  dress.  "  There,  now,  you  will  do  ; 
but  let  me  send  Janet  to  see  what  these  people  are  about, 
before  you  go.  It  is  really  quite  like  an  elopement, 
mamma.  See,  your  boot  needs  fastening.  Let  me  tie  it." 

The  words  were  full  of  cheer ;  but  as  she  rose  from  her 
kneeling  position,  the  mother  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears. 

For  the  first  time  the  thought  of  the  lonely,  unprotected 
position  in  which  the  child  would  be  left  occurred  to  her. 


66  SIBYL. 

and,  with  an  involuntary  impulse  of  tenderness,  she 
cried,  — 

"  Sibyl,  I  must  not  leave  you  here.  "What  will  you  do  ? 
What  will  become  of  you  if —  if  any  tiling  should  happen 
to  us?" 

"  Janet  and  the  other  servants  will  be  here,  mamma ; 
besides,  you  will  be  back  in  the  morning,  or  some  time  to 
morrow." 

"  Certainly,  child,  in  the  first  boat." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Monroe,  they  are  all  disputin'  about  some- 
thin'  or  other  in  the  hall,  and  the  boat  is  off  the  Grape  Vine 
Point,  ma'am." 

Janet's  warning  was  heeded.  Once  behind  the  friendly 
altheas,  Elsie  Monroe  walked  as  she  had  not  for  many  a 
long  year.  Sibyl,  leaning  against  the  lattice  of  the  veran 
da,  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  a  spot  of  dusty  road,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  scarcely  drawing  a  long  breath, 
until  she  saw  her  mother  emerge  from  the  shrubbery  at 
that  point.  The  winding,  descending  road  soon  hid  her 
again ;  but  she  did  not  leave  her  post  until  she  saw  the 
steamer  stop  and  again  put  out  into  the  current. 

Then  she  came  in,  and,  sitting  down,  wept  silently,  but 
not  altogether  sorrowfully  ;  for  her  mother  had  been  sorry 
to  leave  her,  and  her  father's  blessing  still  warmed  her 
heart. 

She  was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  a  man  servant,  who 
had  been  long  in  the  family,  and  who  said,  with  his  most 
respectful  bow,  — 


SIBYL     LEFT     ALONE.  67 

"  Perhaps  you  had  best  go  to  your  own  room,  Miss 
Sibyl.  They  are  coming  this  way  inventorying,  as  they 
call  it." 

"  Thank  you,  James.  I  will.  But  stay.  There  is 
mamma's  writing  desk ;  they  cannot  claim  that.  Bring  it 
to  my  room,  if  you  please." 

"Now,  there's  a  real  lady  for  you,"  muttered  the  man,  as 
her  slight  figure  disappeared  through  the  doorway.  "  An', 
what's  more,  she's  the  true  grit.  Who'd  a  thought  of  her 
stayin'  here,  as  grave  as  a  judge,  and  as  brave  as  General 
Jackson !  Tain't  much  like  women  folks  in  the  general,  as 
far  as  my  observation  goes.  There's  Bridget,  and  Kate, 
and  Mary,  and  even  Miss  Janet,  scared  out  on  their  seven 
senses,  —  huddlin'  up  in  corners,  and  expectin'  to  be  robbed 
and  murdered,  one  would  think,  every  minute.  Her  bein' 
here  is  jest  what  grannie  would  call  '  castin'  pearls  afore 
swine ; '  that's  a  fact." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  hours  of  that  night  passed  very  slowly  and  wearily 
to  Sibyl.  She  could  not  sleep,  but  lay  tossing  and  tum 
bling  among  her  pillows,  trying  to  shut  out  the  loud  ticking 
of  the  hall  clock,  which,  like  some  garrulous  old  night 
watcher,  seemed  in  the  deep  silence  to  be  recounting  the 
history  of  the  past. 

Once  she  rose  to  waken  Janet,  who  had  made  up  a  bed 
in  her  room ;  but  the  good  woman  slept  so  soundly  in  spite 
of  her  fears,  that  the  girl's  own  nerves  grew  quiet  at  the 
sight,  and  she  crept  back  to  fall  into  an  uneasy,  troubled 
slumber. 

She  was  up  with  the  sun,  and  as  the  servant  threw  back 
the  blinds,  and  let  the  warm  sunlight  into  the  room,  her 
heart  grew  lighter,  and  she  said,  — 

"  Mamma  will  hardly  come  in  the  first  boat,  Janet ;  it 
will  be  too  early  for  her ;  but  I  will  go  down  to  the  moss 
terrace  and  watch." 

"  Not  till  you  have  had  some  breakfast,  miss.  The  morn 
ing  mists  are  not  good  for  an  empty  stomach." 

But  she  was  already  down  stairs  before  the  woman  had 
ceased  to  speak.  The  terrace  was  fresh  as  Eden,  and  the 

(68) 


WATCHING    FOR    THE     BOAT.  69 

long  line  of  the  Shawangunk  Mountains  on  the  west,  and 
the  Catskills  to  the  north,  were  rolling  up  their  heavy  veils 
of  mist  to  greet  the  sun ;  but  this  time  the  child  had  neither 
eye  nor  ear  for  any  thing  save  that  point  in  the  river  where 
the  Boderburgh  on  the  west,  and  a  giant  brother  on  the  east, 
keep  sentinel  at  the  rocky  jaws  of  the  Highlands ;  for  from 
amid  the  thick,  black  shadows  by  Polopell's  Island  ascend 
ed  a  column  of  smoke,  and  she  knew  that  the  morning  boat 
was  on  its  way.  Seated  upon  the  rustic  lounge,  she 
watched  until  the  steamer  hove  in  sight  and  came  proudly 
up  the  stream. 

"  If  she  is  on  board,  she  will  take  a  carriage  from  the  land 
ing."  And  with  this  thought  she  hurried  home.  The  break 
fast  was  arranged,  but  the  moments  and  hours  went  by,  and 
its  delicacies  were  left  untasted  by  the  child.  "  I  suppose 
I  was  foolish  to  look  for  her  by  the  first  boat,  Janet,"  she 
said,  catching  at  every  cause  for  delay.  "  I  might  have 
known  she  could  not  rise  so  early." 

She  had  hardly  ceased  speaking  when  a  carriage  drove 
up  the  avenue.  She  was  about  to  run  down,  when  the  faith 
ful  servant  who  stood  near  the  window  recalled  her. 

"  It  is  Judge  Simmons  and  two  other  gentlemen,  Miss 
Sibyl." 

She  was  glad  the  judge  had  come  ;  he  was  a  good  neigh 
bor  and  friend ;  he  might  bring  her  some  message ;  her 
mother  might  have  come,  and  have  driven  to  his  house  to 
avoid  those  disagreeable  people,  and  she  waited  impatiently 
for  some  message  from  him. 


70  SIBYL. 

It  oame  at  last,  and  she  hurried  down.  She  found  the 
hall  full  of  people ;  some  were  gathered  together  in  groups, 
talking  over  her  father's  affairs  ;  others  examining  the  pic 
tures  which  the  fine  taste  of  Monroe  had  placed  upon  the 
walls.  One  or  two  of  these  gentlemen  she  recognized ;  but 
she  stole  along  unheeded,  until,  near  the  parlor  door,  she 
was  arrested  by  the  sight  of  a  picture  which  had  ever  been 
considered  her  exclusive  property.  It  was  a  "  Mater  Dolo- 
rosa"  which  her  father  had  given  her  on  her  tenth  birthday. 
It  was  now  in  the  hands  of  a  person  who  was  holding  it  in 
a  favorable  light,  while  two  gentlemen  discussed  its  merits. 

Perhaps  she  would  have  sprung  forward  and  claimed  it, 
but  at  that  moment  some  one  behind  her  uttered  a  loud  cry ; 
there  was  a  crash  immediately  above  her,  and  when  she 
next  opened  her  eyes,  she  lay  on  the  sofa  in  her  mother's 

parlor,  supported  in  the  arms  of  a  stranger,  drenched  with 

/ 
the  cologne  water  which  Judge  Simmons  and  another  old 

gentleman  plentifully  bestowed  upon  her. 

"  Are  you  much  hurt,  miss  ?  "  asked  her  supporter. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir.  Why,  what  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked, 
trying  to  rise,  and  sinking  back,  and  almost  fainting  again 
from  pain. 

"  You  are  hurt,  badly  hurt,  I  fear,  my  dear  child,"  said 
Judge  Simmons,  kindly.  "  That  awkward  lout,  in  taking 
down  the  great  hunting  piece,  let  it  fall ;  and  had  Mr.  Went- 
worth,  here,  been  a  moment  later  in  his  notice  of  your 
danger,  you  might  have  been  crushed.  It  was  quite  a 
Providence.  Mr.  Hungerford,"  he  added,  addressing  the  old 


THE     PICTURES.  71 

gentleman,  "I  saw  Dr.  Atwater's  carriage  at  the  house 
below  as  we  came  up.  "Will  you  despatch  a  messenger  for 
him  ?  "  He  sat  down,  and  relieved  Mr.  Wentworth  of  his 
light  burden. 

He  arose  and  stood  before  her,  and  she  would  have 
thanked  him  ;  but  he  said  gently,  with  a  slight  tinge  of  irony 
in  his  low,  musical  tones,  — 

"  Judge  Simmons  overrates  my  slight  service.  Like 
most  remarkable  deeds  of  heroism,  it  may  be  traced  to  self- 
love.  I  was  standing  beneath  the  picture,  and  in  noting 
my  own  danger  could  not  be  blind  to  yours.  I  would  that 
I  could  have  spared  you  a  lame  arm  and  shoulder." 

Attracted  by  the  music  of  his  voice,  she  looked  up  to  his 
face.  It  was  a  very  noble  head,  and  the  dark,  clearly  de 
fined  features  were  full  of  grave  command,  even  in  repose. 
He  might  have  been  twenty-five,  perhaps  ;  he  looked  older 
to  the  young  girl,  who,  as  he  turned  away  and  stood  exam 
ining  some  marble  vases  which  ornamented  the  room,  con 
tinued  to  gaze  at  him,  almost  forgetting  her  pain  in  striving 
to  recall  where  she  had  seen  him  before  :  at  last  she  thought. 
At  the  house  of  a  gentleman  in  New  York,  where  she  had 
sometimes  been  with  her  brother,  was  a  portrait  of  Arnold 
of  Brescia,  the  priest-patriot  of  Rome.  It  was  probably  a 
fancy  piece,  a  mere  creation  of  the  artist's  brain  ;  but  it  had 
made  a  powerful  impression  on  her  mind,  and  in  this  stran 
ger's  face  she  traced  the  same  lofty  purpose,  the  same  firm-. 
ness,  endurance,  and  strong  resolve,  the  same  energy  of 
will,  that  for  a  noble  end  would  brave  all  things,  which 


72  SIBYL. 

the  artist  had  given  to  his  hero.  Happily  she  was  too  pure 
and  childlike  to  see  the  pride,  ambition,  and  egotism  that 
marred  those  noble  features.  Like  the  best  and  worst  of 
us,  she  could  "  see  only  what  she  had  learned  to  see." 

As  he  became  aware  of  her  scrutiny,  he  turned,  and  with 
a  smile  of  almost  feminine  sweetness,  said  a  few  words  of 
condolence,  and  was  leaving  the  room.  In  the  doorway  he 
met  the  gentleman  denominated  Hungerford,  and  Dr.  At- 
water.  This  reminded  her  of  her  picture,  and  she  begged 
the  doctor  and  Judge  Simmons  not  to  let  them  take  it  away. 

"  Is  that  picture  yours  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wentworth,  suddenly 
turning  back. 

"  It  is  ;  papa  gave  it  me  !  "  she  replied  eagerly. 

"  Then  I  relinquish  all  claims  to  it.  I  did  not  know  it  was 
yours."  And  he  left  the  room,  accompanied  by  his  old  friend. 

"  Now  please  send  Janet  here,  Judge  Simmons,"  she  said, 
as  the  doctor  proceeded  to  examine  her  arm.  "  It  is  not 
broken,  I  think." 

"  No,  only  badly  bruised.     We  shall  be  all  right  again  in 

a  few  days,"  was  the  characteristic  reply,  as  with  Janet's 

help  he  bound  it  up ;  and  ordering  a  few  quieting  powders 

to  guard  against  any  tendency  to  fever,  with  a  general  order 

*to  keep  very  quiet,  he  left  the  room. 

"  Now,  my  dear  brave  little  girl,"  said  Judge  Simmons, 
when  they  were  again  alone,  "  I  have  something  for  you 
better  than  a  powder  —  a  letter  from  your  father.  You 
must  promise  me  not  to  cry  over  it.  It  came  in  one  con 
taining  a  few  lines  to  me,  and  will  tell  you  all  about  his 


THE   FATHER'S   LETTER.  73 

plans  much  better  than  I  can.  Perhaps  you  would  rather 
be  alone  to  read  it.  I  will  come  back  in  a  short  time." 

He  rose  as  if  to  go.  Then  looking  at  her  with  a  tender, 
pitying  expression  on  his  bluff  face,  he  said,  "  I  trust,  Sibyl, 
that  all  this  unfortunate  business  will  be  settled  soon,  and 
that  you  will  have  your  friends  again ;  but  remember,  you 
are  welcome  to  a  home  in  my  house  as  long  as  you  choose. 
You  must  go  home  with  me  to-night ;  this  is  no  place  for 
you,  and  Charley  and  Julia  will  be  delighted  to  see  you.  I 
will  return  soon."  And  with  a  strange  feeling  of  tightness 
in  the  region  of  his  unruffled  neckcloth,  the  stately  judge 
left  the  room. 

The  letter  ran  thus  :  — 

"  My  little  Sibyl  —  my  dear  daughter.  As  I  write  these 
words,  I  think  of  the  hours  we  spent  together  after  old 
Lydia's  death.  Would  that  she  were  living  to  guard  you 
now !  I  know  you  have  not  forgotten  them,  and  that  you 
will  always  remember  them;  and  this  will  help  you  to  bear 
the  evils  which  your  father's  misfortunes  —  rather  his  mad 
ness  —  have  brought  upon  you. 

"  It  is  a  bitter  thing  for  a  father  to  stand  before  the  face 
of  his  child  and  confess  his  sin ;  an  added  bitterness,  which 
God  grant  you  may  never  know,  my  child,  to  feel  that  the 
innocent  must  suffer  for  his  guilt ;  but  if  I  had  the  audacity 
to  do  this  wrong  in  the  face  of  my  own  sense  of  right,  I 
will  not  have  the  cowardice  to  deny  it  to  my  child.  I  have 
sinned,  Sibyl ;  I  have  wronged  and  defrauded  the  man  who 


74  SIBYL. 

trusted  me.  I  hope  to  be  able  in  some  measure  to  repair 
this  wrong ;  and  in  this  hope,  and  to  escape  a  prison,  I  have 
taken  passage  to  France,  where  I  hope  to  find  friends  and 
employment,  When  you  read  this  we  shall  be  already  on 
our  way  —  your  mother  and  I. 

"  I  thought  to  leave  her  with  you ;  but  she  cannot  bear 
the  change  that  would  await  her,  and  —  poor  Elsie !  I  can 
not  refuse  her  this.  Willie  will  remain  at  Mr.  P.'s  school 
for  the  present ;  you,  my  little  Sibyl,  will  go  down  to  Elt- 
ham,  and  find  a  home  with  my  brother  in  the  old  farm 
house  until  I  can  make  some  arrangements  to  bring  you  to 
us.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  have  not  seen  him  oftener ;  but 
he  will  receive  you,  and  be  kind  to  you  for  my  sake.  I 
have  written  to  him,  and  Judge  Simmons  will  make  all  the 
necessary  arrangements  for  your  journey. 

"  You  are  more  thoughtful  than  most  girls  at  your  age, 
Sibyl ;  you  will  understand  how  imperative  it  is  that  I 
should  leave  you  thus  ;  you  will  think  of  all  I  have  said, 
and  believe  ever  that  your  father  loves  you.  Your  mother 
is  too  busy  to  write,  but  sends  much  love. 
"  God  bless  you,  my  child. 

"ARTHUR  MONROE. 

"  P.  S.  As  to  your  expenses,  the  quarterly  allowance 
which  I  gave  you  a  week  or  so  since  will  more  than  cover 
them  all.  When  I  reach  Paris,  I  will  send  you  more. 
Write  often,  and  always  remember  that  you  are  very  dear 
to  your  father." 


THE     INTRUDER.  75 

We  have  said  that  Sibyl  seldom  wept  passionately ;  but 
now,  as  the  whole  sense  of  her  forlorn  condition  came  over 
her,  she  cried  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking.  She  did  not 
hear  any  one  enter  the  room ;  but  when  her  grief  had  spent 
itself  in  low,  spasmodic  sobs,  she  looked  up,  and  started  in 
surprise  and  anger  as  she  saw  the  gray-headed  old  man, 
whom  they  had  called  Mr.  Hungerford,  perusing,  with  all 
the  calmness  in  the  world,  her  father's  letter,  which  had  fall 
en  to  the  floor.  She  sprang  to  her  feet ;  but  before  she 
could  speak  he  had  pushed  up  his  glasses,  and  deliberately 
handing  her  the  letter,  said,  — 

"  So  you  are  Arthur  Monroe's  daughter ;  and  you  think 
me  a  very  rude,  impolite  old  man." 

"  I  do,  sir." 

"  Well,  that  sounds  honest.  I  like  it.  But  you  must  re 
member,  little  one,  that  it  matters  not  so  much  what  people 
think  as  what  we  are.  Perhaps  I  was  guilty  of  a  breach 
of  good  manners  ;  but  the  sight  of  that  handwriting  brought 
back  old  memories.  Besides,  I  caught  the  name  '  Sibyl '  on 
the  letter,  your  grandmother's  name,  and  I  knew  that  noble, 
God-fearing  woman  well,  child  ;  and  I  knew  your  father,  too, 
when  no  older  than  you,"  —  he  went  on,  rising  and  walk 
ing  the  room  with  quick,  rapid  steps,  —  "  knew  him  before 
he  had  bowed  the  knee  to  the  poorest,  emptiest,  most  unsat 
isfying  of  all  earthly  idols — mere  physical  beauty,  that 
apple  of  Sodom,  from  whose  ashes  spring  disappointment, 
sorrow,  and  ruin  —  atheism  towards  God  and  man." 

The  girl  watched  the  face  as  if  it  had  for  her  a  species 


76  SIBYL. 

of  fascination — so  wrinkled,  so  hard,  so  obstinate,  with 
its  straight  mouth,  and  shaggy  eyebrows  drawn  to  a  point, 
and  almost  meeting,  and  yet  so  alive,  and  quivering  with 
deep  emotion. 

At  length  he  paused,  and  standing  before  her,  said,  — 

"  So  you  are  to  go  down  to  Eltham ;  that,  at  least,  shows 
sense  —  better  than  a  miserable  boarding  school ;  for  you 
will  have  fresh  air,  at  least,  and  healthy  food,  though  Polly 
Mason  does  rule  in  Sibyl  Umberfield's  seat." 

"  I  am  to  live  with  my  uncle  George ! "  she  said,  not 
quite  comprehending  him. 

"  And  your  uncle  stays  with  Polly  Mason  ;  that  is,  she 
contrived  to  marry  him  some  years  ago.  She  bears  his 
name,  but  she  is  Mason  still  —  mean  and  grasping.  But  is 
there  any  thing  you  Avant,  child  ?  I  am  your  father's  friend, 
you  know." 

"  No,  sir,  I  thank  you."  Then  suddenly  remembering 
that  only  a  day  or  two  before  her  mother  had  borrowed 
more  than  half  her  allowance  of  pocket  money  to  send  to 
"Willie,  because  he  had  spent  his,  she  added,  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  it  costs  to  go  to  Eltham  ?  " 

"  About  eight  dollars,  I  should  think,  for  you.  I  could 
go  for  half  that ;  but  you  are  a  woman,  and  it  costs  double 
to  get  a  woman  any  where.  I  have  been  the  distance  many 
a  time  with  no  cost  save  a  pair  of  weary  legs,  and  the  mat 
ter  of  a  few  shillings  for  food  and  lodging.  But  do  you 
need  nothing  in  the  way  of  clothes  ?  Think." 

"  No,  sir."     And  as  he  left  the  room,  she  again  laid  her 


A     HO  ME     OFFERED.  77 

weary  head  on  the  sofa,  thinking  how  much  she  did  need 
some  loving  human  heart. 

Perhaps  that  queer  old  man  thought  the  same,  for  he 
looked  back  from  the  door,  and  then  went  down  and  had  a 
brief  but  earnest  conversation  with  Judge  Simmons  ;  and 
when  that  gentleman  came  to  her  soon  after,  he  seemed 
quite  elated,  and  told  her  he  found  that  Mr.  Ilungerford 
was  an  old  friend  of  her  father's  —  a  distant  relative  of  the 
family,  he  believed  ;  that  he  had  purchased  of  one  of  the 
creditors,  who  refused  to  give  it  up,  her  picture,  and  desired 
him  to  take  charge  of  it  for  her ;  and  moreover,  that  he 
offered  her,  if  she  chose,  a  home  with  himself.  "  He  keeps 
house,  though  a  bachelor,  it  seems,"  he  added,  "  and  is  a 
person  of  unquestionable  character,  and  quite  wealthy.  I 
do  not  like  to  take  the  responsibility  of  advising,  my  child, 
but  it  is  a  kind  offer,  and  may  lead  to  important  results." 

"  It  is  very  kind ;  please  tell  him  so,"  said  the  child,  too 
unworldly  to  realize  the  drift  of  the  judge's  remarks; 
"  but  I  will  go  down  to  Eltham.  as  papa  wishes." 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  GOOD  by,  Sibyl ;  you  must  write  to  us  when  you  get 
to  your  uncle's.  I  would  go  all  the  way  with  you  if  it 
were  not  that  I  must  not  neglect  the  interests  of  my  clients. 
It  is  but  thirty  miles  farther,  and  your  uncle's  people  will 
meet  you  at  the  '  Corners.'  I  have  written  again  to  make 
sure ; "  and  the  kind-hearted  Judge  Simmons,  who  had 
escorted  her  as  far  as  New  Haven,  looked  again  into  the 
stage  coach,  where  he  had  placed  her,  to  press  warmly  her 
hand. 

She  tried  to  keep  up  bravely  as  she  bade  him  "  good  by ; " 
but  when,  with  a  reiterated  command  to  the  driver  to  be 
careful  of  the  young  lady  and  her  baggage,  and  be  sure  and 
leave  her  at  "  Hitchcock's  Corners,"  he  turned  away  and 
disappeared  among  the  crowd  in  Chapel  Street,  she  drew 
back  in  her  corner  of  the  vehicle,  and  no  longer  tried  to 
restrain  her  tears. 

It  was  a  nondescript  sort  of  a  vehicle,  —  that  long,  cov 
ered  wagon,  by  courtesy  denominated  a  stage,  —  and  its  con 
tents  still  more  so  ;  for  packed  in  among  the  three  or  four 
passengers,  without  much  reference  to  their  comfort  or  con 
venience,  were  a  keg  of  nails,  one  or  two  cans  of  turpentine 

(78) 


THE    "STAGE-COACH."  79 

and  oil,  bundles  and  bandboxes,  wooden  butter  tubs  of 
various  dimensions,  and  a  small  keg,  which  one  of  the  pas 
sengers,  a  young  countrified-looking  fellow  in  a  linen  coat, 
said  smelt  "  mighty  strong  "  of  New  England  rum. 

Sibyl  sat  upon  the  back  seat ;  a  woman  in  a  deep  black 
bonnet  and  faded  mourning,  with  a  sickly-looking  rose  bush 
in  a  pot  upon  her  knee,  occupied  the  seat  beside  her.  The 
middle  seat  was  almost  wholly  monopolized  by  a  large, 
fleshy  man,  who  shook  with  the  motion  of  the  vehicle  like  a 
pyramid  of  jelly,  which  he  greatly  resembled ;  and  upon 
the  front  seat,  vis-a-vis  with  Sibyl,  was  the  youth  aforesaid. 
He  was  the  only  one  who  seemed  inclined  to  talk  ;  but  he 
had  generally  that  kind  of  unwashed  look  which  seems 
inseparable  to  some  persons,  and  Sibyl  instinctively  recoiled 
from  him.  Yet  he  seemed  kind  hearted,  for,  when  repulsed 
by  her  silence,  he  addressed  himself  to  cheering  up  the  sad 
woman  in  black,  and  succeeded.  He  soon  drew  from  her 
the  story  of  her  rose  bush ;  it  had  belonged  to  a  young 
daughter  who  went  to  the  city  to  learn  a  trade.  The 
daughter  had  died  of  dysentery  the  past  week,  and  the  poor 
mother  was  bearing  home  this  last  relic  of  her  child.  She 
told  this  story  with  many  repetitions  and  tears ;  but  Sibyl 
was  touched  by  it  and  the  evident  sympathy  of  the  young 
man. 

Their  driver,  a  small,  cheerful,  dust-colored  man,  v,uth  an 
eye  and  a  voice  like  a  cricket,  seemed  to  be  on  capital 
terms  with  himself,  his  horses,  and  every  one  else ;  espe 
cially  with  the  housewives  on  the  road,  for  whom  he  acted 


80  SIBYL. 

as  a  sort  of  commission  merchant.  He  reined  up  at  almost 
every  old  farm  house  gate,  to  hold  a  chat  with  the  mother 
or  some  sunny-faced  girl,  sometimes  handing  out  a  parcel, 
but  oftener  a  butter  tub  with  the  weight  marked  in  red 
chalk  upon  the  cover,  and  talked  over  quarters  and  ounces, 
or  reviewed  the  state  of  the  market  generally.  Sibyl  was 
somewhat  amused  by  some  of  these  interviews,  and  looked 
longingly  at  the  little  fair-haired  children  that  came  run 
ning  out  after  their  mothers,  sometimes  climbing  the  fence, 
but  oftener  hiding  timidly  behind  the  folds  of  their  mother's 
gown,  and  peering  out  at  the  travellers. 

It  was  the  season  of  the  hay  harvest,  and  her  quick  eye 
took  in  all  the  beauty  of  that  most  beautiful  season.  The 
measured  step  and  graceful  sweep  of  the  mowers ;  the 
unconscious  grace  of  their  attitudes,  as  they  paused  to  whet 
their  scythes  ;  the  cheerful  laugh  of  the  rakers,  as  they 
gathered  the  fragrant  masses  into  long  winrows  and  rolled 
them  into  heaps ;  the  patient  look  of  the  oxen,  the  deep-red 
cattle  so  long  the  pride  of  Connecticut  farmers,  as  they 
stood  in  the  shade  waiting  to  be  hitched  to  the  wagon,  or 
obeyed  the  quick  motions  of  the  teamster  as  they  wound  in 
and  out  among  the  thick  heaps  ;  the  deep  green  of  the  bar 
ley,  that  most  graceful  of  all  grains  ;  the  rustling  murmur 
of  the  magnificent  corn  leaves,  sounding  like  a  distant  sea ; 
the  "  silver  flowing  of  the  rye,"  along  the  edges  of  which 
might  occasionally  be  seen  young  girls  cutting  the  straw 
for  braiding,  —  all  formed  to  her  a  picture  as  new  as  beau 
tiful,  and  helped  her  for  a  time  to  forget  her  loneliness. 


THE     TIRESOME      RIDE.  81 

But  as  the  hours  went  on,  and  the  heat  grew  more 
intense,  her  head  began  to  ache  terribly ;  the  dust  filled 
her  weary  eyes  and  lay  thick  upon  her  dress,  and  she  was 
glad  to  draw  as  far  back  as  possible  in  her  corner,  where, 
from  sheer  exhaustion,  she  fell  asleep.  But  her  sleep  could 
scarcely  be  called  rest,  so  filled  it  was  with  visions  of  all 
she  had  seen  that  day  —  haunted  by  strange  noises,  among 
which  sounded  at  intervals  a  horn,  which  sometimes  seemed 
the  bugle  of  some  fairy  king,  and  sometimes  the  horns  of 
the  host  of  Israel  before  Jericho,  which  aunt  Lydia  used  to 
describe  so  vividly.  It  was  the  tin  horn  upon  which  the 
driver  announced  his  approach  to  any  village ;  and  its  shrill 
peal  awoke  her  just  as  they  were  entering  a  small  hamlet. 
She  was  surprised  to  find  the  fleshy  old  gentleman  gone, 
and  that  her  neighbor  in  black  had  vacated  her  seat  to 
make  more  room  for  her ;  for  she  had  been  stretched  upon 
the  seat,  her  head  resting  on  a  temporary  pillow  formed  by 
the  spare  cushions,  over  which  was  spread  the  linen  coat  of 
her  fellow-traveller. 

The  latter  smiled  as  he  noticed  her  bewildered  look. 

"  You  seemed  so  fagged  out  and  sleepy,  and  your  head 
kinder  tottled  about  so,  that  we  thought  we'd  see  if  we 
couldn't  fix  you  up  in  a  leetle  better  shape." 

Sibyl  thanked  him. 

"  O,  not  at  all.  I'm  glad  if  any  body  can  sleep  in  this 
confounded  old  ark.  Driver,  you  haven't  got  the  sea  serpent 
among  this  loadin',  have  you  ?  " 

The  driver  laughed,  and  drove  up  to  one  of  a  cluster  of 
6 


82  SIBYL. 

houses  in  front  of  winch  hung  a  sign  with  "  Entertainment 
for  Travellers  "  painted  upon  it.  It  seemed  that  the  occu 
pant  united  the  functions  of  landlord  and  storekeeper ;  for 
in  the  windows  of  one  of  the  front  rooms  were  displayed 
glasses  filled  with  sticks  of  colored  candy,  lemons,  oranges, 
pipes,  &c.,  interspersed  with  advertisements  of  patent  medi 
cines  ;  and  on  the  same  side  of  the  door  was  a  column  of 
black  letters  telling  of  "  Ginger,"  "  Allspice,"  "  Cinnamon," 
"  Rhubarb,"  &c.,  to  be  bought  there.  This  was  "  Hitch 
cock's,"  the  driver  said,  as  he  opened  the  door  to  hand 
Sibyl  out.  He  told  her  to  "  run  in  "  while  he  would  see 
to  her  trunk.  She  said  "  good  by  "  to  her  fellow-travellers, 
and  obeyed.  There  was  no  one  behind  the  counter  but  a 
young  boy,  and  before  she  had  gathered  courage  to  speak 
with  him  the  driver  entered,  and  setting  down  her  trunk 
with  a  thump,  asked  the  question  for  her :  — 

"  Seen  any  thing  of  Cappen  Monroe  or  any  of  his  folks 
about  here,  Smith  ?  " 

"  No ;  the  captain's  gone  west  with  a  drove,  I  be 
lieve." 

"  Well,  here's  his  niece  come  up  to  make  'em  a  visit,  I 
reckon.  Some  of  'em  'ill  be  down  afore  night,  I  expect. 
They  are  to  meet  her  here." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  the  youth  pertly,  as  he  turned  and 
gave  a  long  stare  at  Sibyl. 

She  gave  one  glance  at  him,  and  around  the  dark,  dirty 
store,  and  half  drawing  her  purse  from  her  pocket,  turned 
to  the  driver. 


HITCHCOCK'S   CORNERS.  83 

"  Can't  you  take  me  to  my  uncle's,  sir  ?  I  will  pay  you 
if  you  will." 

"  Can't  possibly,  miss.  'Twould  take  a  month  o'  Sun 
days  to  get  round  that  way,  unless  the  '  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountain  '  has  been  at  work  at  highways  lately,  which  ain't 
no  ways  likely.  But  don't  fret ;  they'll  be  down  for  you 
before  long."  With  this  piece  of  consolation,  he  took  his 
mail  bag,  and  mounting  his  vehicle,  again  drove  off. 

Amid  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust,  Sibyl  lost  sight  of  her 
white-haired  friend  of  the  linen  jacket,  and  the  sad  mother 
with  "  poor  Mary's  rose  bush ; "  and  as  the  top  of  the  wagon 
disappeared  in  a  deep  hollow,  her  heart  sank,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  blinding  tears ;  for,  child  or  man,  the  heart 
shrinks  from  the  unknown,  and  clings  to  the  familiar.  She 
had  met  her  fellow-passengers  before  her  old  friend,  Judge 
Simmons,  left  her;  they  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  too 
troubled  to  remember  that  even  this  should  teach  her  to 
hope,  she  sat  down  on  a  box,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Perhaps,  miss,  you  had  better  walk  into  the  sitting 
room." 

She  looked  up,  and  met  the  curious  glance  of  the  clerk. 
"  A  little  homesick,  I  guess,"  he  added ;  "  but  that  never 
killed  any  body  yet." 

He  threw  open  a  door ;  and  thankful  for  this  piece  of 
attention,  she  walked  into  a  long,  rather  narrow  room,  scan 
tily  furnished  with  a  rag  carpet,  a  few  chairs,  and  a  table. 
There  was  no  one  there ;  and  after  a  while,  she  began  to 
look  over  the  few  books  that  lay  upon  the  table.  There 


84  SIBYL. 

were  the  Village  Hymn  Book,  Complete  Letter  Writer,  a 
copy  of  Judah's  Lion,  with  "  S.  S.  Library "  upon  the  fly 
leaf ;  the  Boston  Academy's  Collection  of  Music,  with  a  leaf 
turned  down  at  "  Siberia ; "  the  Adventures  of  Israel  Potter, 
with  a  coarse  wood  cut  of  himself  and  boy  ;  and  a  Song 
Book,  with  several  "  Farewells  "  and  entreaties  to  "  Forget 
me  not"  scrawled  in  pencil  on  its  pages.  Tired  of  these, 
she  turned  to  the  walls,  which  were  graced  with  one  or  two 
high-colored  prints  of  females  with  wondrously  sloping 
shoulders,  and  miraculously  small  waists.  Over  the  fire 
place  hung  a  smoke-colored  menagerie  of  American  Presi 
dents,  and  on  the  side  of  the  room  opposite,  one  of  those 
coarse  lithographs,  so  common  in  some  of  our  country 
houses,  representing  a  large  white  funeral  monument,  with 
a  female  in  mourning,  with  a  wonderfully  lachrymose  ex 
pression,  and  a  monstrous,  large  white  pocket  handkerchief, 
leaning  over  it.  Sibyl  was  turning  away  from  this  carica 
ture  of  grief  with  indifference,  when  her  eye  caught  the 
inscription  written  upon  the  white  tablet,  — 

DAVID  HITCHCOCK,  AGED  THREE  YEARS. 

Her  heart  at  once  recognized  the  feeling  that  placed  it 
there,  and  did  reverence  before  it.  She  was  still  standing 
beneath  it,  when  a  tall,  thin,  Avorn-looking  woman,  with  a 
nondescript  cap  of  black  cotton  lace  hung  upon  the  back 
portion  of  her  head,  entered  the  room,  and  said,  — 

"  How  do  you  do,  miss  ?     I  hope  you  are   comfortable. 


A     FRIENDLY     FACE.  85 

You  are  looking  at  that  picture.  I  never  thought  much  of 
such  things,  but  a  little  while  ago,  a  man  came  along  with  a 
whole  lot  of  'em,  and  the  girls  were  possessed  about  'em. 
They  would  have  the  others,"  she  went  on,  with  a  glance  at 
the  "  Julias  "  and  "  IsabeUas  "  opposite ;  "  he  wanted  them 
Presidents,  and  I  chose  this.  Isn't  it  beautiful  ?  " 

Sibyl  parried  the  question  by  asking,  with  a  glance  at  the 
inscription,  — 

"  Was  it  your  little  boy,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Yes,  our  little  Dave.  He  died  almost  a  year  ago,  and 
it  seemed,  when  he  was  took,  that  the  whole  house  was 
gone." 

Sibyl's  eyes  were  as  full  of  tears  as  the  hard-working, 
bereaved  mother's,  and  the  woman's  heart  of  the  latter  was 
drawn  towards  her  at  once. 

"  Bless  me,  I  forgot !  talking  about  little  Dave,  I  oilers 
do,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  but  Ambrose  says  you  are  Arthur 
Monroe's  girl.  You  must  be  tired  and  hungry.  Take  off 
your  bonnet,  child ;  they  may  not  come  for  you  till  clean 
sundown ;  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  —  the  kettle  is  on  the 
fire,  and  I'll  have  it  ready  in  a  jiffy.  You  expect  to  stay 
some  time  at  the  capting's,  I  reckon,"  she  added,  as  she 
suddenly  paused  in  her  progress  towards  the  kitchen. 

Sibyl  said,  "  Yes,"  and  added,  that  she  would  be  much 
obliged  to  her  if  she  would  show  her  some  place  where  she 
could  wash  her  face  and  hands. 

"  La,  yes  !  why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before  ?  It's  terrible 
dusty,"  she  replied,  starting  for  a  door  opposite  from  the  one 


86  SIBYL. 

by  which  she  had  entered ;  but  suddenly  halting,  and  whirl 
ing  about,  she  said,  — 

"  There  ain't  no  water  in  the  spare  bedroom,  and  you 
may  as  well  come  right  out  to  the  kitchen.  It  won't  be  so 
lonesome  like." 

Sibyl  was  glad  to  get  water  at  any  rate,  or  in  any  place, 
and  she  thankfully  followed  the  woman  into  her  kitchen, 
where  a  plentiful  supply  of  pure  water,  albeit  it  was  in  a 
somewhat  battered  tin  basin,  and  a  clean  crash  towel,  made 
her  feel  very  much  refreshed.  She  smoothed  her  brown 
hair  by  the  little  bit  of  a  mirror  fixed  to  the  wall  above  the 
sink,  while  the  good  Avoman — let  us  hope,  with  the  kind 
intention  of  keeping  her  from  feeling  lonesome  —  plied  her 
with  questions  about  her  family  and  journey,  rattling  her 
dishes,  in  the  mean  time,  so  loudly  as  to  prevent  herself 
from  hearing  one  half  of  the  child's  low,  brief  replies. 

"When  the  table  was  ready,  Mrs.  Hitchcock  said  they 
would  sit  down,  as  the  boy  was  busy,  and  he  might  not  be 
home  until  sundown,  as  he  had  gone  to  carry  her  girls  down 
to  "  sister  Brown's  ; "  and  from  this  Sibyl  inferred  that  the 
"  he  "  so  often  spoken  of  was  her  husband.  The  landlady 
evidently  held  to  the  opinion  of  a  great  many  housewives  — 
that  a  cup  of  strong  green  tea  is  a  cure  for  all  troubles ; 
for  she  poured  out  one  for  the  child  which  looked  like  ley, 
and  very  reluctantly  consented  to  permit  her  to  reduce  it 
with  milk  and  water.  / 

After  the  meal  was  over,  Sibyl  watched  the  long  shadows 
creeping  across  the  back  yard,  while  the  good  woman  went 


ARRIVAL     OF     "HE."  87 

on  to  give  her  a  long  account  of  "  sister  Brown's  "  sprained 
ankle,  and  before  she  finished,  "  he  "  drove  into  the  yard. 

"  "Well,  there's  Dave,  come  at  last.  I  guess  he'll  know  if 
any  of  the  capting's  folks  are  on  the  road."  And  she  thrust 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  called,  — 

«  Dave  !     Dave  Hitchcock ! " 

The  man  tied  his  horse,  and  moved  very  deliberately 
towards  the  door,  with  a  — 

"  Well,  July,  what's  wantin'  ?  " 

"  Here's  Arthur  Monroe's  girl  —  you  remember  Arthur 
—  come  all  the  way  from  York,  to  see  her  relations.  She's 
expectin'  some  of  the  capting's  folks  down.  Have  you  seen 
any  thing  of  'em  on  the  road  ?  " 

"  Arthur  Monroe !  I  guess  I  do  remember  him.  We 
used  to  go  to  school  together,  when  I  lived  with  old  Tim 
Dean.  And  this  is  his  gal.  Your  father  ain't  down  in 
these  parts,  is  he  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  You  didn't  come  clean  from  York  alone,  did  you  ?  "  he 
said,  glancing  at  her  curiously. 

Again  Sibyl  replied  in  the  negative,  and  ventured  to  re 
peat  his  wife's  question  with  regard  to  her  uncle's  people. 

"  No,  no,  the  cappen  ain't  to  home,  and  Polly  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  let  any  on  'em  quit  until  sundown,  especially  in 
hayin'  time.  Fred  don't  often  get  the  reins  between  his 
fingers,  I  fancy." 

Then  she  was  subjected  to  another  querying  about  her 
father,  his  business,  and  so  forth  ;  and,  wondering  when  it 
would  end,  she  answered  as  briefly  as  possible. 


88  SIBYL. 

The  man  seemed  satisfied,  and,  probably  pitying  her 
evident  uneasiness,  he  remarked  to  bis  wife,  as  he  sat  down 
to  the  table,  — 

"  I've  got  to  go  to  mill  after  my  grist  to-morrow.  Per 
haps  I  may  as  well  go  to-night,  and  the  little  girl  can  ride 
down  with  me.  Tim,"  he  cried,  going  to  the  door,  and 
calling  to  an  Irish  boy,  who  was  busy  in  the  wood  pile, 
"  take  out  Prince,  and  harness  him  into  the  big  wagon. 
It'll  be  rather  hard  riding  on  the  board  seat,  but  you  won't 
mind  it  much,  I  guess,"  he  added  to  Sibyl. 

She  thanked  him  warmly,  and  returned  to  the  sitting 
room,  where  she  could  not  well  avoid  hearing  her  arrival 
talked  over  between  the  man  and  his  wife  ;  and  there  was 
something  in  the  way  they  spoke  of  her  uncle's  wife  that 
made  her  feel  still  more  troubled  and  sad. 

When  the  man  was  ready,  she  took  out  her  purse  to  pay 
them  for  her  supper ;  but  the  woman,  with  a  laugh,  bade 
her  put  it  back,  saying  she  was  not  accustomed  "  to  ask 
folks  to  eat,  and  then  take  pay.  She  was  sure  she  was  as 
welcome  as  could  be.  She  hadn't  eat  enough  to  keep 
alive  a  fly ; "  and  asked  her  to  come  down  and  see  them 
sometimes,  for  she  "  guessed  she  would  have  a  kinder  lone 
some  time  of  it  up  there,  for  'twan't  much  as  it  used  to  be 
when  her  grandmother  was  alive,  or  even  the  first  woman." 

Before  she  had  time  to  think,  Mr.  Hitchcock  had  lifted 
her  bodily  into  the  wagon,  and  taken  his  place  by  her  side 
on  the  board,  which  served  for  a  seat.  Her  trunk  was 
already  in,  and,  nodding  to  his  wife,  they  drove  off. 


SOCIABLERIDE.  89 

Her  driver  was  very  sociable,  and  fortunately  did  not 
require  her  to  take  part  in  the  conversation.  He  gave  her 
the  history  of  each  house  they  passed,  the  families  that 
dwelt  in  them,  just  how  much  they  owed,  and  how  much 
they  might  be  worth  were  they  to  die  that  minute  —  a  point 
on  which  he  seemed  to  lay  great  stress,  occasionally  diver 
ging  to  the  merits  of  his  horse,  until  Sibyl  thought  both 
master  and  beast  very  remarkable  specimens. 

At  length  he  paused,  and  she  ventured  to  ask  about  her 
cousin  Fred. 

"  Well,  he's  a  bright  boy,  —  oncomnaon,  as  one  may  say, 
—  a  mighty  genus  for  workin'  in  wood,  and  makin'  all  sorts 
of  things.  It's  my  honest  opinion  he  ought  to  be  sent  to  a 
trade  ;  but  Polly  can't  spare  him,  or  won't,  I  s'pose." 

"  Is  Polly  my  aunt  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she's  the  man  of  the  house ;  the  cappen's  gone 
a  good  deal,  and  she  holds  a  pootty  tight  rein,  I  guess.  I 
hear  Jim  Culver  tell  about  her  management  now  and  then. 
Jim's  oilers  worked  there,  more  or  less,  sin'  he  was  a  boy. 
He  says  Fred  has  a  hard  'un,  though  he's  weakly  and  con 
sumptive,  like  his  mother.  The  Wilsons  were  all  con 
sumptive.  What's  got  ye  now  ?  " 

The  last  query  was  addressed  to  his  horse,  which  shied 
at  a  large  log,  which  lay  by  the  road  side,  when,  turning 
the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  they  began  to  descend  into  a  broad, 
beautiful  valley. 

It  was  sunset ;  but  Sibyl  could  still  mark  the  graceful 
undulations  of  the  hills  on  the  west ;  the  silver  stream, 


90  SIBYL. 

fringed  with  willows  and  alders,  and  crossed  by  more  than 
one  rustic  bridge, ,  which  gleamed  through  the  smooth 
meadows ;  the  quiet  old  farm  houses,  indicated,  rather  than 
seen,  by  the  tall  well  sweeps  and  red  chimneys,  peering 
above  the  nooks  of  greenery  in  which  they  were  shrouded, 
and  away  at  the  south,  the  spire  of  a  church  just  visible 
above  the  hills. 

"  That  is  Eltham  church,"  said  her  driver,  "  two  miles  or 
so  here ;  and  look  yonder." 

She  turned,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight ;  for 
on  the  east,  looking  very  near  in  the  early  twilight,  were 
three  grand  old  bluffs,  their  perpendicular,  seamed  faces 
still  glowing  with  the  last  rays  of  sunlight. 

"  There's  the  jumping  off  place  of  the  great  hills  that 
run  all  the  way  from  here  up  to  Canada,  they  say ;  and  a 
pesky  job  it  is  to  get  wood  off  from  there  in  the  winter,  I 
can  tell  you,"  was  his  reply.  "  Between  the  two  on  this 
side  is  the  '  Cat  Hole  Pass,'  where  it's  as  dark  as  Dinmie, 
even  at  noon,  and  on  the  other  side,  clear  up  to  the  peak, 
is  the  '  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain.'  " 

"  Does  he  live  up  there  ?  "  she  asked,  timidly. 

The  man's  loud  laugh  brought  the  quick  blood  to  her 
cheek,  as  he  replied,  "  I  guess  he'd  have  a  rather  cool  time 
of  it  if  he  did.  Didn't  your  father  never  tell  you  about  the 
Old  Man  ?  He  used  to  be  pootty  well  acquainted  with  him 
when  he  was  a  shaver.  I  don't  know  who  gin  it  the 
name,  but  jest  on  the  other  side  —  you  can  see  it  from  your 
uncle's  —  is  the  image  of  a  man's  face  in  the  rocks.  It 


ATELTHAM.  91 

looks,  for  all  the  world,  like   General  Washington.     You 
must  get  Fred  to  take  you  up  there  some  day." 

Sibyl  ventured  no  more  questions,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  rude  jolting  of  the  wagon,  was  half  asleep,  when  it 
suddenly  stood  still,  and  she  was  aroused  by  Mr.  Hitchcock's 
exclamation  of  "  Here  we  are,  girl ! " 

She  would,  as  she  thought,  have  recognized  the  place 
any  where.  There  was  the  giant  oak  on  the  green,  in 
front  of  the  gate,  of  which  old  Lydia  had  so  often  told  her ; 
its  great  gnarled  branches  were  shorn  of  much  of  their 
beauty  and  strength,  —  a  meet  emblem  of  the  fortunes  of 
the  family,  —  and  behind  it,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  yard, 
stretched  the  old  farm  house,  a  long  building,  with  a  peaked 
roof  and  massive  stone  chimneys. 

This  was  her  father's  home ;  and  though  no  kind  faces 
appeared  to  welcome  her,  and  the  front  door  looked  as  if  it 
were  never  opened,  her  heart  warmed  towards  the  spot, 
and  with  a  light  step  she  followed  her  conductor  around 
to  the  back  door.  It  stood  wide  open,  revealing  a  long,  low 
kitchen,  in  which  the  darkness  was  made  visible  by  the 
light  of  a  candle  on  a  table,  at  which  sat  a  slightly  bald- 
headed,  square-shouldered  man,  with  his  shirt  sleeves,  of 
striped  cotton,  still  rolled  up  to  his  elbows,  displaying  his 
brown  brawny  arms,  eating  his  supper,  while  at  another 
table,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  stood  a  woman  strain 
ing  milk. 

"  Hallo,  Culver  !  Busy,  as  usual !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hitch 
cock,  as  he  entered  without  further  ceremony.  "  Miss 


92  SIBYL. 

Monroe,  I  hain't  brought  your  butter  tub.  "We  hain't  quite 
emptied  it  yet ;  but  I've  brought  somethin'  better,  —  a  little 
gal,  the  cappen's  niece,  to  kinder  liven,  you  up." 

"  It's  no  matter  about  the  tub,"  she  said,  answering  what 
was  to  her  the  most  interesting  part  of  his  address  first ; 
then,  coming  forward  a  few  steps,  and  taking  a  survey  of 
Sibyl,  she  added, — 

"  So  you  have  reached  here  finally,  child.  Why  don't  you 
sit  down,  and  take  off  your  things  ?  Pray  have  a  chair, 
Mr.  Hitchcock ;  that  is,  if  you  can  find  a  place  to  sit  down. 
It's  all  dirt  here." 

There  was  not  so  much  as  a  speck  of  litter  to  be  seen 
any  where,  and  Sibyl  wondered  what  her  aunt  meant ;  but 
Mr.  Hitchcock  knew  the  woman,  and  answered,  with  a 
laugh,  — 

':  Ah,  we  all  know  how  much  dirt  there  is  in  your  house. 
I  guess  a  tea  spoon  would  hold  it  all.  My  wife  says  the 
flies  don't  dare  to  come  where  you  are." 

"  I  wish  they  didn't,  for  my  part ;  for  it's  more  than  I 
can  do  to  keep  decent.  I  hope  you  hain't  come  all  the  way 
on  purpose  to  fetch  that  girl  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  I  had  got  to  go  to  mill,  and,  as  she 
seemed  to  be  kinder  down-hearted,  I  thought  I'd  come 
round  this  way,  as  none  of  you  happened  to  be  down." 

"  I  couldn't  spare  man  nor  horse.  How  folks  can  find 
time  to  go  riding  about  in  hayin'  time  is  more  than  I  know  ! 
I  thought  she'd  get  here  somehow.  Did  you  say  you  were 
going  to  mill  ?  " 


AUNT     POLLY     MONROE.  93 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  if  you'll  just  let  me  fling  in  a  bag  of  corn,  you'll 
oblige  me  very  much.  My  chicken  meal  is  most  gone,  and 
it  will  save  harnessing  up  and  going  on  purpose.  Culver, 
you  won't  mind  staying  to  put  up  a  bushel  of  corn.  You'll 
find  a  bag  in  the  bin.  It  ain't  my  way  to  trouble  folks," 
she  went  on,  again  addressing  Mr.  Hitchcock ;  "  but  Mr. 
Monroe's  oilers  gone,  and  I'm  obliged  to  see  after  every 
thing.  If  I  don't  reward  you,  the  Lord  will." 

"  And  a  long  score  he'll  have  if  he  pays  for  all  you  get 
out  of  other  folks,"  muttered  Culver,  as  he  rose  from  the 
table  and  went  out  to  put  up  the  corn. 

Mrs.  Monroe  was  already  at  the  well  near  the  door,  where 
she  stood  rinsing  her  pails,  and  talking  over  the  prices  of 
produce  and  the  neighborhood  gossip  with  Mr.  Hitchcock, 
apparently  wholly  forgetful  of  the  presence  of  the  girl ;  but 
then  it  Avas  still  light  enough  for  Sibyl  to  see  her  features 
distinctly.  She  was  a  small,  spare  woman  of  forty-five : 
she  might,  however,  have  been  younger,  for  Sibyl  could  not 
help  feeling  that  she  must  always  have  been  old,  even  as  a 
baby  ;  with  a  small,  narrow  head,  very  high  in  the  region  of 
firmness  and  self-esteem,  and  features  that  were  small  and 
rather  pleasing  in  themselves,  had  it  not  been  for  an  exceed 
ingly  di*y,  hard  look,  as  if  she  had  been  baked  in  a  kiln, 
which  was  heightened  by  the  apparent  tightness  of  the  skin 
over  her  cheek  bones  and  temples.  Culver  would  have 
called  it  a  "  hide  bound  "  look ;  and  perhaps  that  term  is  as 
expressive  of  the  truth  as  any  other. 


94  SIBYL  . 

Sibyl  was  peculiarly  susceptible  to  personal  impressions, 
and  as  she  sat  gazing  at  her  aunt,  her  heart  grew  gloomier 
and  sadder  than  before ;  the  love  with  Avhich  she  had  been 
yearning  to  meet  her  relatives  seemed  to  turn  into  ice ; 
there  was  no  beauty  in  the  landscape,  nor  any  thing  else ; 
and  the  tears  were  just  ready  to  fall,  when  a  hand  was  laid 
lightly  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  pleasant  voice  said,  — 

"Is  it  yon,  cousin  Sibyl?  You  can't  think  how  I've 
longed  to  have  you  come." 

She  looked  up  into  the  face  of  a  boy,  who  stood  panting 
painfully  from  some  over-exertion  by  her  side.  He  was  a 
year  or  more  older  than  herself,  tall  and  gaunt,  with  great 
dark  eyes,  that  seemed  set  in  a  hollow,  and  a  mass  of  black 
hair,  which,  wet  with  perspiration,  clung  close  to  his  temples. 

Sibyl  laid  her  hand  in  his  and  attempted  to  reply ;  but 
her  tears  were  far  more  intelligible  than  her  words.  The 
lad  understood  them,  and  said,  kindly,  — 

"  You  are  so  tired,  cousin  —  let  me  take  your  things. 
One  feels  so  queer  among  strange  folks,"  he  added,  as  with 
the  handiness  of  a  girl  he  helped  her  off  with  her  cape 
and  hat,  "  at  least,  I  should.  But  you'll  be  better  by  and 
by."  A  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  him,  and  when  able 
again  to  speak,  he  added,  "  She  said  you  were  coming 
some  time,  but  I  did  not  know  when." 

Before  Sibyl  could  reply,  Mrs.  Monroe  called  him  to 
assist  Culver  in  bringing  her  truuk.  He  sprang  to  the 
door,  and  Mr.  Hitchcock,  nodding  good  by  to  her,  followed 
him  out  to  the  street. 


A    SPIRIT     MANIFESTATION.  95 

"  Goin'  ter  stay  a  spell,  I  guess,"  said  the  man  Culver, 
as  he  and  Fred  brought  in  her  large  handsome  trunk  and 
set  it  down.  "  That's  a  nice  affair.  I  wonder  where  Miss 
Monroe  is  goin'  to  have  it  put." 

"  Up  stairs  in  the  east  chamber,  of  course,"  Fred  replied. 
"  The  front  way,  Culver ;  wait  until  I  have  opened  the 
doors." 

"Now  just  please  to  put  that  trunk  down,"  said  the  voice 
of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  as  they  were  lifting  it  with  the 
intention  of  carrying  out  Fred's  suggestion.  "  /  can  tell 
where  the  trunk  is  to  go.  I  don't  need  any  of  your  or 
dering,  Mr.  Fred,  nor  of  other  folks's  in  this  house.  I 
guess  I  shall  have  you  traipsing  through  my  rooms  and 
up  my  stairs  with  them  feet  —  streamin'  taller  all  the  way 
for  me  to  scrub  up.  I'm  slave  enough  now,  and  like  to  have 
more  on't ;  "  and  she  turned  a  sharp  glance  at  Sibyl.  "  If 
you  want  any  thing  to  do,  Fred,  you  can  go  out  and  bring  in 
some  wood  and  kindlin's  for  mornin'.  You'd  never  know 
as  there  was  such  a  thing  wantin'  if  I  didn't  tell  you  ; "  and 
she  went  into  the  pantry,  to  use  an  expression  of  Fred's, 
"  as  if  she  was  shot." 

"  Fire  !  "  muttered  Culver,  as  he  gazed  after  her  with  a 
comical  look.  "  What's  ter  pay  now  ?  Well,  boy,  I  guess 
I'll  go  home  now.  In  the  morning  we'll  strike  the  grass  in 
the  '  Abel  Meadow '  bright  and  early.  It's  getting  a  little 
burnt." 

Fred  nodded  a  reply,  and  looking  half  ashamed  and  a 
good  deal  vexed,  sat  down  to  his  supper.  He  had  scarcely 


96  SIBYL. 

commenced  eating  when  Mrs.  Monroe  came  out  of  the  pan 
try,  and  began  clearing  off  the  dishes  ;  and  by  the  time  the 
boy  was  ready  for  his  pie,  she  had  swept  the  table  of  every 
dish  save  the  one  which  contained  it.  Sibyl,  wholly  unac 
customed  to  such  proceedings,  watched  them  with  astonish 
ment,  which  was  deepened  when  Fred  took  his  pie  in  his 
hand,  and  came  and  seated  himself  in  the  doorway,  very 
near  to  her  side. 

He  probably  read  her  thoughts,  for  he  laughed  as  he 
said,  "  You  don't  eat  in  this  fashion  down  in  York,  cousin. 
"What  do  you  suppose  your  brother  would  say  to  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  don't  think  I  should  like  it  at  all,  but 
may  be  Willie  would.  He  likes  to  do  all  manner  of  strange 
things." 

"  Does  he  ?  I  wish  he  had  come  too.  Does  he  like  to 
ride  and  drive  ?  And  can  he  make  mills  and  water  wheels, 
and  catch  fish,  and  do  such  things  ?  " 

"  He  likes  to  ride,  and  has  the  prettiest  pony  in  the  world ; 
but  he  never  drives,  unless  when  James  lets  him  take  the 
reins  a  little  while ;  and  he  is  very  fond  of  fishing.  But 
about  the  mills  and  wheels  —  I  don't  know  —  I  think  not." 

"  Does  he  go  to  school  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  the  last  term  he  took  Kelpie  with  him.  He 
is  very  clever." 

"  I  should  think  he  ought  to  be,  to  go  to  school  all  the 
time." 

"  Don't  you  go  ?  " 

"  Not  much ;  only  a  few  weeks  in  the  winter,  when  there 


MORE     OF     AUNT     POLLY.  97 

is  nothing  to  do.  I  wish  I  could."  And  the  lad's  pale  face 
grew  very  sad.  But  he  said  no  more,  and  before  Sibyl 
could  ask  why  he  did  not  go  to  school,  Mrs.  Monroe  came 
in,  and  seeing  that  the  wood  and  "kindlings"  were  not 
brought  in,  pointed  to  the  empty  basket,  and  said,  dryly,  — 

"  If  some  people  were  as  smart  to  work  as  they  were 
to  eat,  there  would  be  more  done  than  there  generally 
was." 

The  boy's  pale  cheeks  flushed  crimson,  and  Sibyl,  though 
she  had  once  or  twice  glanced  at  his  soiled  clothes  and  bare 
feet  with  a  feeling  of  dislike,  felt  her  heart  drawn  to  him, 
and  said  earnestly,  — 

"  Can't  I  go  with  you,  cousin  Fred  ?  " 

"  Not  to-night ;  you  are  too  tired ; "  and  the  face  he 
turned  towards  her,  radiant  with  pleasure,  completely 
transfigured  his  trousers,  bare  feet  and  all. 

As  he  took  the  basket  and  went  out,  Mrs.  Monroe  set  up 
her  broom,  saying,  — 

"  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  go  to  bed." 

"  As  you  please,  aunt." 

She  lighted  a  candle  and  stood  waiting.     Sibyl  hesitated. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  my  trunk  taken  up,  if  you  please, 
aunt." 

"  The  trunk  will  stay  where  it  is  to-night.  You  can  take 
out  what  you  want." 

Sibyl  drew  from  her  pocket  the  key,  and  kneeling  clown, 
selected  such  clothes  as  she  needed,  together  with  her  little 
pocket  Bible,  old  Lydia's  gift,  and  locking  it  again,  with  a 
7 


98  SIBYL  . 

wistful  glance  at  the  door,  in  hope  of  seeing  Fred,  to  bid 
him  "good  night,"  followed  her  aunt  up  the  back  stairs, 
through  the  long,  narrow  lean-to  where  the  rafters  almost 
hit  her  head,  into  a  large  front  chamber,  where  the  air  was 
very  close  and  stifling,  and  strongly  impregnated  with  the 
odor  of  stale  feathers  and  wool. 

Mrs.  Monroe  said  herself  that  it  was  "  hotter  than  an 
oven  there,"  and  proceeded  to  raise  a  window,  for  which 
the  child  was  truly  thankful ;  then,  bidding  her  make  haste 
and  undress  herself,  she  emptied  one  of  the  few  chairs  in 
the  room  of  its  pile  of  woollen  blankets,  and  seating  her 
self,  watched  her  movements  with  a  cold,  curious  stare. 

Conscious  of  this,  Sibyl's  fingers  grew  tremulous  and  un 
steady;  she  caught  the  hooks  of  her  dress  in  the  dress 
itself,  and  was,  at  last,  obliged  to  apply  to  her  for  assist 
ance. 

"  There !  next  time  don't  quiver  and  shake  as  if  you  had 
got  the  palsy,  child  !  Now,  into  bed  with  you  !  What  are 
you  waiting  for?"  she  added,  as  she  rose  and  took  the 
candle. 

"  Please,  aunt,  would  you  leave  me  the  light  a  little 
while  ?  " 

"  And  who  is  to  come  after  it,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  thought  they  might  take  it  when  they 
came  to  bring  up  the  water,"  said  Sibyl,  glancing  around 
the  room  for  those  indispensable  articles  —  a  wash  stand 
and  ewer. 

"  They  !     Who  ?  " 


FURTHER    MANIFESTATIONS.  99 

The  words  were  short,  and  crisp  as  hailstones. 

"  The  servants,  aunt." 

She  put  down  the  candle,  and  said,  with  an  expression 
which  by  no  means  quieted  the  girl's  nerves,  — 

"  You  had  this  done  for  you  at  home,  miss  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  Mary  always  saw  to  my  room,  besides  arranging 
the  bath  when  mamma  desired  it." 

Again  there  came  that  curious  expression,  and,  as  if  half 
comprehending  it  now,  the  child  added,  — 

"I  dare  say,  aunt,  I  can  bring  up  water  for  myself,  if 
your  people  are  too  busy." 

"  I  rather  guess  you'll  have  ter."  Then,  with  a  singular 
elongation  of  her  neck  and  chin,  and  a  contraction  of  her 
thin  lips,  —  a  movement  which  Sibyl  learned  to  dread  far 
more  than  the  biting  words  that  always  followed,  —  she 
added,  in  that  cold,  cutting  tone,  — 

"  I  rather  guess  they'll  always  be  too  busy ;  so  I'll  just 
tell  you  that,  in  the  morning,  you'll  find  a  whole  well  full 
of  water  out  the  kitchen  door,  and,  if  that  ain't  enough,  a 
whole  mill  pond  full  over  the  hill ;  and  as  to  lights,  you 
will  have  one  until  you  have  learned  the  way  to  bed,  and 
no  longer.  I'm  not  going  to  be  burnt  up  for  any  young 
one's  whim !  "  and  with  the  light  in  her  hand  she  left  the 
room. 

Poor  Sibyl !  This  was  her  welcome  to  Eltham  —  to  her 
father's  and  dear  Lydia's  old  home !  She  had  not  hoped 
much.  The  last  few  weeks  had  been  too  crowded;  but 
back  of  these  lay  many  a  happy  dream  of  this  old  place, 


100  SIBYL. 

and  now  no  kiss  of  welcome,  no  kind  good  night,  no  gentle, 
loving  glance,  —  and,  sitting  upon  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where 
her  aunt  had  left  her,  she  gave  vent  to  her  long-suppressed 
tears. 

At  length  there  came  the  sound  of  bare  feet  upon  the 
stairs.  Stealthily  they  crept  along  through  the  dark  back 
chamber,  until  they  paused  at  her  door,  and  a  "  Good  night, 
cousin,"  in  a  tone  scarce  above  a  whisper,  reached  her  ears. 

It  is  strange  on  what  slight  things  our  moods  depend. 
"We  are  all  children  in  this  respect.  Through  the  loneli 
ness  and  darkness  that  a  moment  before  had  seemed  to  shut 
her  in,  these  little  words  came,  full  of  comfort  and  light. 
She  remembered  Fred's  kind  welcome,  the  thoughtful  care 
of  her  fellow-travellers,  and  the  Hitchcocks'  kindness,  and, 
whispering  back  the  words,  she  sank  on  her  pillow,  and 
soon  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

SHE  awoke  in  the  morning  long  before  her  usual  hour, 
to  find  herself  half  smothered  in  one  of  those  masses  of 
feathers,  which  it  is  the  pride  of  country  matrons  to  pos 
sess,  under  the  name  of  beds.  It  rose  on  each  side  of  her 
like  a  wall,  and  hot,  faint,  exhausted,  she  raised  herself 
up,  and  gazed  round  the  room,  scarcely  realizing  where 
she  was. 

In  truth,  there  was  little  home-like  or  attractive  to  her 
in  that  room,  with  its  bare  floor,  few  chairs  piled  full  of 
woollen  blankets  of  all  imaginable  patterns,  red  chest  with 
drawers,  and  another  of  unpainted  wood  without  drawers; 
and  its  homeless  aspect,  together  with  the  memory  of  her 
aunt's  manner  the  night  before,  was  too  much  for  her,  and 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  pillow,  murmuring,  "  O,  papa ! 
papa !" 

Presently  she  heard  voices  below  her  window,  in  the 
yard,  which  she  recognized  as  her  cousin's  and  that  of  the 
man  she  had  seen  the  night  before ;  and  fearful  of  displeas 
ing  her  aunt  by  tardiness,  she  contrived  to  reach  the  floor 
from  her  mound  of  feathers  and  straw,  and  began  to  dress. 
She  looked  in  vain  for  a  mirror,  in  which  to  arrange  her 

(101) 


102  SIBYL. 

hair,  but  finding  none,  was  obliged  to  trust  to  the  nicety  of 
her  touch,  in  smoothing  the  soft  locks.  Of  course  she  did 
not  expect  any  water ;  but  unwilling  to  go  down  and  ex 
pose  her  swollen  eyes  to  her  aunt,  she  went  to  the  window, 
and  threw  up  the  sash.  She  started,  and  her  heart  leaped 
with  joy,  for  there,  at  the  distance  of  scarcely  a  mile  and  a 
half,  rose  the  grand  bluffs  she  had  seen  the  night  before  ; 
and  with  the  morning  mist  hovering  above  it  like  a  crown, 
clear  and  distinct  in  the  pure  morning  light,  stood  out  the 
great  rock  profile,  of  which  Mr.  Hitchcock  had  spoken, 
calm,  grand,  and  severe.  There  was  something  about  it 
that  reminded  the  child  of  her  old  nurse.  Perhaps  old 
Lyclia  had  lived  beneath  its  shadow  until  she  had  caught 
something  of  its  expression  of  high  endurance  ;  and  with  a 
heart  full  of  pleasant  memories,  she  turned  away,  and  de 
scended  to  the  kitchen. 

There  was  a  bright  fire  burning  on  the  wide  hearth,  and 
between  the  andirons,  flanked  on  one  side  by  the  tea  kettle 
and  the  other  by  a  large  brass  kettle  filled  with  milk,  sat 
Mrs.  Monroe  upon  her  feet,  vigorously  stirring  some  hash, 
which  was  warming  upon  the  coals. 

She  did  not  speak,  and  Sibyl,  after  waiting  a  few 
moments,  was  about  to  wish  her  "  good  morning,"  when 
she  suddenly  arose,  and  turning  upon  her  her  flushed  face, 
said,  — 

"  So  you  can  get  up  without  help,  it  seems." 

"  O,  yes,  aunt,"  she  replied,  pleasantly.  "  I  have  been 
accustomed  to  dress  myself  this  long  time." 


MORE    NEW    WATS.  103 

"  Well,  that  is  wonderful !  "  There  was  something  in  the 
tone  that  jarred  unpleasantly  upon  the  child's  feelings,  and 
remembering  what  she  had  been  told  the  night  before  about 
the  well,  she  stepped  out  of  the  door. 

The  morning  was  glorious,  and  the  sweet  fresh  air,  laden 
with  the  fragrance  of  the  new-mown  hay,  after  that  of  her 
close  chamber,  seemed  to  give  her  new  life.  The  yard, 
which  led  back  to  the  barns,  and  sloped  gradually  down  to 
a  little  lively  brook,  which  gave  drink  to  the  cattle  in  sum 
mer  and  winter,  was  alive  with  all  sorts  of  poultry  —  full 
of  sights  and  sounds  wholly  new  to  her. 

She  easily  found  the  well,  a  few  paces  from  the  back 
door  ;  but  there  was  no  water  in  the  bucket,  and  the  process 
of  raising  it,  by  means  of  that  long  pole  and  sweep,  was  to 
her  a  mystery.  She  stood  looking  down  into  the  water 
dimly  visible  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  old  well,  and  ad 
miring  the  fresh,  crispy  look  of  the  mosses  that  tapestried 
the  rough  stones,  when  she  heard  her  aunt's  voice,  calling,  — 

"  Do  you  intend  to  fall  down  the  well  the  first  thing, 
child?  Why  don't  you  wash  yourself,  if  you  are  a  gwine 
ter?" 

"  There  is  no  water  here,  aunt." 

"  There's  a  plenty  in  the  well,  and  I  guess  you'll  have  ter 
draw  down  the  bucket.  Folks  wait  on  themselves  here." 

It  was  the  same  thin,  cold,  ironical  tone  which  she  had 
used  the  night  before,  and  frightened  at  that  more  than  the 
word-,  Sibyl  seized  the  pole,  and  began  to  draw  it  down; 
but  it  was  new  work,  and  when  it  was  about  half  way  down 


104  SIBYL. 

to  the  water,  she  missed  her  grasp,  and,  slipping  through 
her  hands,  it  went  up  with  a  jingling  of  chains  that  greatly 
increased  her  fright.  Fortunately,  Mrs.  Monroe  was  within 
doors  ;  and  grasping  it  again,  as  it  swung  past  her,  she  made 
another  effort.  This  time  she  contrived  to  reach  the  water, 
and  dip  the  bucket,  but  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  raise  it, 
when  some  one  called  to  her  with  a  cheerful  laugh,  — 

"  I  rather  guess  you  hain't  got  the  hang  of  that  con 
trivance  yet.  Wait  a  bit ;  "  and  Mr.  Culver,  his  round  face 
shining  with  good  humor,  hung  his  scythe  across  a  limb  of 
an  old  gnarled  apple  tree  which  grew  near  the  well,  and 
seizing  the  pole  with  one  hand,  drew  it  up  as  if  it  had  been 
a  feather. 

"  There,"  he  added,  as  he  balanced  the  bucket  on  the 
edge  of  the  curb,  and  the  clear  drops  trickled  back  with  a 
pleasant  murmur ;  "  guess  you  would  not  water  the  flocks 
quite  as  quick  as  Rachel  did  Laban's.  Where'll  you  have 
it?" 

Fred  came  up  as  Sibyl  looked  around  for  something  in 
the  shape  of  bowl  or  basin  to  hold  the  water,  and  catching 
the  bucket,  dashed  a  full  stream  again  and  again  into  a 
small  wooden  trough,  which,  supported  on  two  light  posts, 
stood  behind  the  well. 

"  There,  that  is  as  clean  as  silver,"  he  said,  as  he  filled  it 
up  once  more.  "  You  don't  have  such  basins  as  that  in  ISTew 
York,  cousin." 

Sibyl  laughed,  and  dashed  the  cold  water  over  her  face 
with  delight ;  and  then  Fred  showed  her  how  to  turn  her 
primitive  bowl,  so  as  to  empty  it  when  she  chose. 


COUSIN   FRED'S   EWER.  105 

"  I  made  it  myself,"  he  said.     "  Isn't  it  nice,  Sibyl  ?  " 

Sibyl  thouglit  it  very  good,  but  preferred  a  bowl.  "  How 
came  you  to  make  such  a  thing  ?"  she  asked. 

"  O,  I  was  giving  old  Charley  a  bucket  of  water  one  day, 
and  when  I  wasn't  minding,  he  stepped  into  the  hand  basin, 
and  smashed  it  so  that  it  leaked  like  a  riddle  ;  and  then  she 
said  "  — •  and  he  nodded  towards  the  kitchen  —  "  she  said  I 
should  not  touch  the  new  one ;  and  rather  than  take  the  big 
iron  kettle  there,  I  made  this.  '  Necessity  is  the  mother  of 
invention,'  Master  Richard  says." 

"  Breakfast !  "  cried  the  shrill  voice  of  Mrs.  Monroe  from 
the  doorway ;  and  at  the  word,  Fred  let  go  of  the  bucket, 
which  shot  off  in  a  tangent,  Culver  arose  from  the  broad 
door  step,  where  he  was  pounding  sand  for  his  rifle,  and 
both  entered  the  house.  Sibyl  followed,  with  dripping  face 
and  hands.  Fred  showed  her  where  the  crash  towel  hung 
behind  the  door,  and  stood  waiting  for  her  to  dry  her  face 
and  hands,  when  Mrs.  Monroe,  who,  with  Culver,  was  al 
ready  seated  at  the  table,  said,  — 

"  I  s'pose  your  cousin  can  wipe  her  face  without  your 
help,  Fred.  If  you  are  gwine  ter  fool  round  in  this  way 
every  mornin',  we  shall  have  about  work  enough  done. 
There's  that  kettle  of  milk  been  ready  to  go  over  the  fire 
this  half  hour." 

The  hired  man  sprang  up,  and  laid  hold  of  the  bail,  when 
the  good  woman  interrupted  him,  — 

"  Don't  lift  it  alone,  Culver." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  I  can  lift  a  dozen,"  he  cried.  "  You 
just  swing  out  the  crane  a  leetle." 


106  SIBYL. 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  you  lift  it  alone  ;  you  jiggle  all 
the  soot  down  into  the  milk.  Fred,  if  you  intend  to  move 
to-day,  take  hold  of  the  other  side  ;  you  may  as  well  do  it 
as  for  me  to  kill  myself  liftin'." 

The  boy  lifted  his  side  of  the  heavy  kettle  in  silence,  and 
took  his  seat  at  the  table.  Mrs.  Monroe,  by  signs  rather 
than  words,  indicated  the  place  where  Sibyl  was  to  sit,  and 
the  meal  was  eaten  with  a  rapacity  which  quite  astonished 
the  child.  She  had  scarcely  commenced  her  breakfast, 
when  the  others  arose  from  the  table,  and  Mrs.  Monroe,  as 
on  the  evening  previous,  commenced  removing  the  dishes. 

"  Better  pocket  a  piece  of  somethin'  or  other,  little  one," 
said  Culver,  as  Mrs.  Monroe  shut  the  pantry  door  behind 
her.  "  She's  worse  than  the  tide ;  she  waits  for  no  man,  nor 
woman  either,  for  that  matter,  and  you'll  feel  kinder  holler 
afore  noon,  I  guess." 

"  Sibyl,"  said  Fred,  as  he  came  from  the  cellar  with  a 
bottle  made  of  wooden  staves,  like  a  barrel,  "  we  shall  not 
be  home  again  until  noon ;  but  you  mustn't  get  homesick. 
If  you  get  lonesome,  you  must  run  down  in  the  meadow,  — 
there  are  raspberries  there,  —  look,  down  the  fence  from 
that  big  ash  tree,"  he  added,  pointing  across  the  field  west 
of  the  house.  "  I  picked  a  lot  there  yesterday." 

Mrs.  Monroe  came  in  with  a  basket  filled  with  their 
lunch,  and  Fred  hurried  out  to  the  well  to  fill  his  bottle  with 
water ;  but  when  he  came  in  for  the  basket,  he  contrived  to 
give  her  another  whispered  charge  not  to  "  be  homesick  " 
before  he  bounded  off  after  Culver. 


ALONE    WITH    AUNT    POLLY.  107 

Sibyl  watched  them  as  they  crossed  the  fields,  wishing 
very  much  that  she  could  go  with  them ;  but  not  daring  to 
express  her  wish,  she  turned  and  watched  her  aunt,  as  she 
moved  quickly  around  the  kitchen,  busy  with  her  household 
operations.  As  the  latter  did  not  speak  to  her,  or  seem  to 
be  conscious  of  her  presence,  she  watched  her  in  silence 
while  she  brought  out  a  great  bowl  of  curds,  and  began  to 
cut  them  in  slices ;  then  her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her 
timidity,  and  she  ventured  to  ask  what  it  was. 

"  Cheese  curd ! "  was  the  curt  reply. 

"  Do  you  always  cut  it  in  this  way,  aunt  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Are  you  going  to  make  a  cheese  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  words  could  not  have  been  shorter  had  they  been 
cut  off  with  the  chopping  knife  which  she  plied  so  vigor 
ously  ;  and  discouraged  at  her  manner,  the  girl  turned  to 
the  open  window. 

"  0,  what  pretty  creatures  ! "  she  exclaimed ;  "  they  are 
ducks,  are  they  not,  aunt  ?  "  and  she  was  flying  out  of  the 
door,  when  Mrs.  Monroe  recalled  her. 

"  You  let  the  ducks  alone ;  you'll  only  scare  them  to 
death ! "  she  said.  "  If  you  want  to  do  any  thing,  you  had 
best  pick  up  them  clover  leaves  that  you  have  scattered  all 
over  the  floor.  I  thought  city  folks  had  some  manners."  • 

"I  beg  pardon,  aunt,"  said  the  girl,  coloring,  as  she 
stooped  and  picked  up  the  few  petals  of  the  clover  blossom 
which  had  fallen  from  her  hand.  "  I  did  not  think." 


108  SIBYL. 

"No,  I  dare  say;  nobody  ever  does;  it's  easy  enough  to 
say  that.  Stand  out  of  the  way,  child  —  you  are  between 
me  and  the  light." 

Somehow  Sibyl  had  a  feeling  that  she  was  in  the  way 
any  where  in  that  large  kitchen  ;  so  she  stole  out  of  the  door, 
and  reminded  by  the  sight  of  the  great  ash  tree  of  Fred's 
raspberries,  she  returned  and  asked  permission  to  go  down 
in  the  meadow. 

"  Nobody  henders  you,  as  I  see,"  said  the  aunt,  without 
lifting  her  head. 

Away  the  girl  bounded,  across  the  meadow. 

The  berries  were  very  delicious  ;  and  wandering  along 
by  the  side  of  the  fence,  she  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  sheet  of  water  through  the  thick,  green  trees. 

It  seemed  not  far  distant ;  so  she  climbed  the  fence,  and 
soon  stood  by  the  side  of  a  long  but  somewhat  narrow  mill 
pond.  The  place  was  very  beautiful,  shut  in  by  low, 
wooded  hills,  and  Sibyl's  eye  rested  on  it  with  delight. 

"  If  I  only  had  my  pencils  to  sketch  this  for  papa  !  but 
I  will  come  here  again  to-morrow,"  she  thought,  as  she  sat 
down  close  upon  the  bank. 

Presently  the  great  skeleton-like  looking  wheel  began  to 
turn,  and  drawing  closer  to  the  mill,  she  watched  it  with 
eager  delight  as  it  cast  off,  in  its  revolutions,  whole  showers 
of  diamond  drops,  that  glittered  a  moment  in  the  sunshine, 
then  sank  back  into  the  stream. 

"  So  you  think  it  is  very  pretty  here,  little  one  ?  "  said  a 
voice  close  at  her  side ;  and  springing  to  her  feet,  she  con 
fronted  the  speaker. 


A    NEW    ACQUAINTANCE.  109 

He  was  an  old  white-haired  man,  with  a  face  wrinkled 
and  somewhat  disfigured  by  one  or  two  large  warts,  but 
bright  with  that  ruddy  glow  peculiar  to  a  healthy  old  age 
when  life  has  been  spent  much  in  the  open  air,  and  lit  up 
by  deep-set,  clear,  blue  eyes,  which  from  underneath  their 
shaggy  brows,  shone  calm  and  clear  as  the  lake  at  their 
feet. 

"  So  you  like  it !  "  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  O,  it  is  so  lovely  here  !  " 

Some  one  has  said  that  the  number  of  words  a  speaker 
uses  to  explain  his  meaning  is  the  gauge  of  the  distance 
between  his  mind  and  those  of  his  audience.  It  was  so 
here.  The  child  had  at  once  replied  to  the  old  man's 
thought,  and  pushing  the  white  felt  hat  which  he  wore  from 
his  wrinkled  forehead,  he  slowly  glanced  over  the  scene, 
then  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  addressing  an  old  friend, — 

"  Yes,  it  is  lovely.  I  thought  so  when  a  boy  I  fished 
from  that  rock  yonder,  fifty  years  ago,  and  I  think  so  now ; 
so  every  thing  don't  change  and  grow  dreary  as  we  grow 
old  ;  does  it,  child  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  scenes  like  this  would  grow  more  beau 
tiful,  sir." 

"  Why  so  ?  why  so,  little  one  ?  "  and  for  a  moment  he 
turned  his  glance  from  the  landscape  to  her  face  with  an 
expression  of  curious  interest. 

"  Because  one  would  be  so  much  nearer  heaven,  then," 
was  the  half-timid  reply. 

"  Ay,  so  it  should  be  —  so  it  should  be,"  he  said  thought- 


110  SIBYL. 

fully.  "  But  we  wander  —  wander,  like  men  in  the  days  of 
Shamgar  of  Israel,  in  by-ways.  We  look  back,  and  not 
forward,  and  so  get  our  own  shadows  between  us  and  the 
eternal  brightness  with  which  He  is  ready  to  lighten  our 
downward  path  —  cowards  that  we  are." 

He  seemed  addressing  himself  rather  than  Sibyl,  who 
was  gazing  quietly  up  in  his  healthful  old  face,  seeking  in 
vain  for  shadows  there,  when  he  turned  to  her  abruptly,  — 

'•'  So  you  expect  life  to  grow  brighter  as  you  grow  old  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  he  asked,  curiously. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  thought  much  about  it,  sir ;  but 
there  will  be  a  great  many  more  things  to  love,  and  " 

"  A  great  many  more  friends  to  love  you  ;  is  that  it  ?  " 
he  asked,  pleasantly,  seeing  her  hesitate. 

"  O,  no  ;  not  that,"  she  said  quickly. 

The  old  man  scanned  her  face  closely  ;  then,  placing  his 
hand  on  her  head,  he  asked,  — 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Sibyl  Monroe." 

"Arthur  Munroe's  daughter.  I  thought  I  knew  the 
look;"  and  again  he  scanned  her  with  a  fond  interest. 
"  Yes,  you  are  like  your  father.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him 
once  more." 

"  He  is  not  with  me,  sir.     He  has  gone  to  Europe." 

"  Indeed !  "  but  repressing  the  questions  that  rose  to  his 
lips,  he  added,  "  We  must  be  friends,  little  Sibyl.  Your 
father  and  I  were  good  friends  when  he  was  a  boy,  though 


FKED'S   WATER  WHEEL.  Ill 

my  head  was  almost  as  white  then  as  now.  I  wonder 
Fred  never  spoke  of  your  coming.  Ah !  I  had  well 
nigh  forgotten  his  new  wheel.  It  is  clown  below  the  dam, 
and  I  must  see  how  it  works.  Will  you  go  with  me, 
Sibyl ?  " 

She  placed  her  hand  in  his,  and  for  the  first  time  ob 
served  that  her  old  companion  was  lame  ;  that  it  was  only 
the  aid  afforded  by  a  thick  cork  sole  that  enabled  him  to 
dispense  with  a  crutch.  Hand  in  hand  they  went  on,  he 
pointing  out  now  a  glint  of  sunbeam  striking  athwart  the 
black  shadows  at  the  head  of  the  pond,  now  a  fleecy  cloud 
mirrored  in  the  clear  water,  or  a  lily  riding  like  a  fairy 
boat  at  anchor,  a  bird,  or  a  shy  squirrel  —  speaking  all  the 
while  in  such  a  quiet,  friendly  tone,  that  it  seemed  to  the 
child  as  if  she  must  have  known  him  always. 

"  There,  little  one ;  now  step  from  that  rock  to  this  — 
that's  well  done ;  your  father  couldn't  have  done  better. 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  we  will  take  a  look  at  the  boy's 
invention." 

Sibyl  could  see  nothing  at  first  but  the  water  that  came 
rushing  over  the  dam,  and  swept  fuming  and  fretting 
around  the  scattered  rocks  in  the  stream;  but  dashing- the 
spray  from  her  eyes,  she  finally  discerned  at  her  feet  what 
seemed  to  her  a  complicated  piece  of  mechanism,  which 
whirled  in  the  rushing  water  like  a  thing  of  life. 

Stooping  down,  the  old  man  noted  the  movement  of  every 
part  with  the  utmost  interest ;  then,  stepping  past  the  child, 
he  shut  down  the  mimic  gate  which  barred  the  water 


112  SIBYL. 

from  the  narrow  channel  which  the  boy  had  constructed 
for  his  experiment,  and  took  a  closer  survey  of  the  wheel, 
whistling  all  the  while  to  himself. 

"That'll  do.  If  the  boy  can  carry  out  his  idea  and 
make  it  work,  he's  a  made  man,"  he  said,  rising  from  his 
knee.  "  Boy  or  man,  he  may  be  proud  of  it."  And  then  he 
began  to  point  out  to  Sibyl  wherein  the  superiority  of 
Fred's  crude  idea  lay,  talking  of  segments,  and  circles,  and 
hydraulic  pressures,  wheels  horizontal  and  perpendicular, 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  made  her  eye  and  cheek  grow 
bright  by  mere  force  of  sympathy,  for  not  one  word  out  of 
twenty  did  she  understand. 

"  Did  my  cousin  Fred  make  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  with  his  jackknife,  and  at  odd  moments  ;  for  he  gets 
little  time  for  such  things,  I  fear." 

"  I  wish  you  would  make  it  whirl  again,  sir,  it  is  such  a 
pretty  plaything." 

"Plaything!"  The  old  man  laughed  quietly.  "But 
you  may  not  be  so  far  out  of  the  way,  after  all,  little  Sibyl. 
For  it  is  only  when  the  soul  is  cramped,  confined,  fettered 
like  the  water  in  the  pond  yonder,  compelled  to  a  life  for 
which  it  has  no  affinity,  that  labor  becomes  a  task.  All 
creation  should  be  play ;  and  Fred,  poor  boy,  would  no 
doubt  think  life  a  holiday  could  he  go  on  whittling  out  his 
fancies  thus." 

They  turned  away,  and  like  two  children  went  loitering 
along  the  high  road  past  the  door  of  the  old  mill,  into  the 
misty  recesses  of  which  Sibyl  glanced  with  a  timid  wonder, 


AN     INVITATION.  113 

while  her  old  friend  paused  to  speak  to  the  powdered 
miller,  up  the  slope  beyond  the  mill,  where  the  road,  pass 
ing  along  several  rods  on  the  edge  of  a  beautiful  bit  of 
woodland,  made  a  sudden  bend,  and  ran  down  the  hill 
towards  her  uncle's  house.  Leading  into  the  woods, 
through  which  ran  a  well-trodden  cart  path,  was  a  pair  of 
bars,  flanked  by  large  rocks,  which  formed  convenient 
seats,  very  happily ;  for  few  could  pass  that  point  without 
wishing  to  pause  and  take  at  least  one  look  at  the  beautiful 
landscape  before  them. 

Here  they  parted,  for  the  old  man's  home,  as  he  told  her, 
lay  on  the  other  side  of  the  wood. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  us,"  he  added.  "  Mother  and 
Silence  will  be  glad  to  have  you.  We  are  all  old,  but  we 
like  young  faces.  Fred  will  show  you  the  way." 

Sibyl  looked  after  him  until  he  was  lost  behind  the  thick 
trees  ;  then,  fearing  she  might  have  displeased  or  alarmed 
her  aunt  by  her  long  absence,  she  hastily  descended  the 
hill.  Her  hands  were  full  of  magnificent  water  lilies,  which 
her  old  friend  had  gathered  for  her,  and  which  she  had 
brought  with  great  care,  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  they 
were  dripping  with  water ;  but  her  aunt,  who  stood  on  the 
door  step  churning,  was  not  so  oblivious.  As  the  child 
drew  near,  holding  up  her  prize,  she  dropped  the  dasher  of 
her  churn,  and  stood  looking  at  her  a  moment,  with  a  curi 
ous  mixture  of  anger,  disgust,  and  contempt  upon  her  face. 
Instinctively  Sibyl's  glance  followed  hers,  and  she  at  once 
8 


114  SIBYL. 

discovered  the  cause  in  her  soiled,  bedraggled  muslin  dress, 
and  begrimed  shoes  and  stockings. 

"  My  stars  !  my  stars  alive,  child !  Where  have  you 
been,  to  make  such  a  muck  of  yourself  ?  " 

"  Only  to  the  pond,  aunt.  I  did  not  think  I  had  wet  my 
dress  so  much.  It's  the  flowers,  I  suppose.  But  don't 
worry,  aunt ;  I  shan't  take  cold,  and  I've  plenty  of  other 
dresses." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say.  But  I  should  like  to  know  who  you 
think  is  going  to  wash  'em.  Do  you  expect  to  wear  such 
light-colored  things  while  you  stay  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  a  number  of  worsted  and  silk 
dresses,  besides  some  fall  ginghams,  I  believe." 

"  Silks  and  worsteds  !  No  wonder  your  father  failed  !  " 
Sibyl  colored.  "  Silks  for  such  a  young  one  !  I  don't  sup 
pose  you  ever  aimed  a  cent  in  your  life !  "  and  turning  to 
the  child,  she  again  repeated  the  question,  "  Do  you  expect 
to  wear  them  here  ?  " 

Sibyl  said  she  did  not  know.  She  would  wear  what  her 
aunt  thought  best. 

The  woman  seemed  a  little  mollified  by  this  answer ;  but 
at  that  moment  her  eye  fell  upon  the  unfortunate  lilies,  and 
she  said,  snappishly, — 

"  What  are  you  gwine  to  do  with  them  things  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  for  a  vase,  or  something,  to  put 
them  in,  aunt  —  by  and  by,  when  you  are  not  so  busy," 
she  added,  seeing  a  peculiar  look  come  over  the  woman's 
face. 


SIBYL'S    LILIES.  115 

"  Yes,  I'll  give  you  a  vase,"  she  replied.  "  I  can  find 
one  with  very  little  trouble.  Give  'em  here." 

Sibyl  obeyed,  and  with  one  energetic  movement  of  her 
arm,  Mrs.  Monroe  sent  them  into  the  midst  of  the  wood 
pile.  Sibyl  sprang  forward,  as  if  about  to  go  after  them ; 
but  the  woman  motioned  her  back,  and  said,  sternly,  — 

"  Let  'em  alone  !  " 

There  was  that  in  the  action  and  the  words  that  woke  in 
the  child's  heart  a  spirit  that  heretofore,  even  under  Willie's 
exactions,  had  slumbered,  and  she  said,  with  flushing 
cheeks,  — 

"  The  flowers  were  mine,  aunt.  I  do  not  think  you  have 
any  right  to  fling  them  away." 

"  No  right !  "Well,  I  s'pose  not.  No  right  to  the  house 
here,  or  any  thing  in  it !  But  you'll  find,  miss,"  she  went 
on,  suddenly  changing  her  ironical  tone  to  one  of  iron  hard 
ness,  "  that,  if  I  am  as  easy  as  an  old  shoe,  you  won't  litter 
up  my  house  with  such  trash  as  that.  Fred  would  have 
covered  the  house  with  briers,  and  rotted  it  down  over  his 
head  afore  this  time,  if  he'd  had  his  way.  Folks  that  wear 
silk  dresses  and  live  on  other  folks'  money,  can  afford  to  do 
such  things,  I  s'pose.  /can't." 

Sibyl  turned  slowly  into  the  house.  Ah,  little  one! 
where  are  all  the  gentle,  loving  thoughts  that  nestled  in 
your  heart  like  home  birds,  half  an  hour  ago  ?  Your 
cheek  is  hot  now,  and  there  is  a  new  light  in  your  eye,  a 
new  feeling  stirring  in  your  heart  —  anger  and  bitterness. 


116  SIBYL. 

This  is  part  of  the  burden,  Sibyl !  Take  heed,  therefore, 
how  you  bear  it.  Other  eyes  besides  ours  are  watching  you  ; 
other  lips  murmur  their  oft-repeated  prayer,  — 

"  Not  that    thou  shouldst  take  her  from  the  world,  O 
Father,  but  that  thou  shouldst  keep  her  from  the  evil ! " 


CHAPTER    XII. 

a  thing  —  not  a  single,  individual  thing  —  fit  to 
wear !  How  any  body  could  think  of  sendin'  a  child  here 
with  such  a  lot  of  cobwebs  is  more'n  I  can  conceive  ! "  and 
Mrs.  Monroe's  nostrils  were  expanded,  and  her  thin  lips 
drawn  in  until  only  a  narrow  line  was  visible,  as,  with  a 
quick,  nervous  hand,  she  removed  the  articles  from  Sibyl's 
trunk.  "  Cloth  boots  !  Not  a  colored  skirt  or  stocking  in 
the  Avhole  kit !  We've  not  only  got  her  to  keep,  but  clothe, 
it  seems  ! " 

Sibyl  had  been  watching  this  process  in  silence.  Her 
aunt  would'nt  allow  her  to  unpack  her  trunk  herself;  for 
Mrs.  Monroe,  among  her  other  qualities,  was  blessed  with  a 
due  share  of  curiosity ;  and  she  had  stood  there,  her  heart 
growing  heavier  and  heavier  as  the  trunk  grew  lighter, 
until  this  coarse  fling  at  her  dependence  roused  her,  and  she 
said,  quickly,  — 

"  Indeed,  papa  never  intended  I  should  be  a  burden  to 
you,  aunt.  These  dresses  are  such  as  he  thought  proper 
for  me  to  wear,  and  I  shall  wear  them,  of  course." 

"  You  will !     Well,  mebby  so.     But  what's  this  ?  " 

And  she  flung  a  large  portfolio  upon  the  floor ;  some 

(117) 


118  SIBYL. 

half  dozen  books  followed,  with  as  little  ceremony;  for 
Sibyl  made  no  reply,  but  busied  herself  with  picking  up  the 
sketches  and  drawing  materials  scattered  by  the  fall. 
Catching  a  glimpse  of  one  of  them,  the  woman  asked,  — 

"  Who  made  them  picturs  ?  " 

"  I  made  them." 

"  You  !  Who  teached  you  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  look  of 
curiosity  on  her  face. 

"  I  had  various  masters.  See,"  Sibyl  added,  childishly 
catching  at  the  gleam  of  interest  manifested  in  her  favorite 
pursuit,  "  here  is  one  I  think  you  will  like." 

It  was  an  old  farm  house,  with  its  accessories,  and  the 
woman  looked  a  moment  with  evident  interest. 

"  Them  cows  are  well  enough,"  she  said,  at  length, 
"  though  no  great  things  for  milk.  But  what  are  such 
things  good  for  ?  " 

"  Good  for !  " 

"Yes;  what  will  they  get?  Victuals,  or  clothes,  or 
money  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  thought,"  said  the  girl,  slowly, 
as  this  new  view  of  art  dawned  upon  her.  "  I  don't  think 
artists  think  much  about  such  things,  though  I  know  papa 
paid  large  sums  for  some  of  our  pictures." 

"  Paid  money  for  things  like  that !  " 

Sibyl  laughed  outright.  "  No,  ma'am,  not  much  like 
that,  or  any  of  mine.  But  they  were  very  beautiful  —  so 
beautiful ! "  she  added,  with  a  sigh  for  her  old  home. 

"  Well,  no  wonder  your  father    didn't  prosper,    squan- 


AUNT  POLLY  ON  FRENCH.        119 

derin'  his  money  upon  such  things,  when  he  could  look  out 
doors  and  see  brooks  and  trees,  and  men  and  women,  enough 
any  day.  You  needn't  put  'em  back  here,"  she  went  on, 
seeing  Sibyl  about  to  replace  them  in  her  trunk ;  "  them 
books  and  the  black  leather  thing  will  go  on  the  front  room 
shelf." 

"  But  I  should  prefer  to  have  them  in  my  own  room, 
aunt.  I  shall  want  my  text  books,  and " 

"  Text  books  !  "  she  interrupted,  taking  up  a  French  copy 
of  Telemachus.  "  What  sort  of  texts  ?  " 

"  That  is  French,  aunt,  and  — 

"  French  !  "  She  held  the  book  from  her  as  if  it  were 
some  infected  thing,  and  crossing  the  room  deliberately  laid 
it  on  the  fire. 

For  a  second  Sibyl  was  motionless  from  surprise ;  then, 
she  sprang  forward  to  the  rescue.  But  a  strong  hand  held 
her  back,  and  a  hard  voice  said,  harshly,  — 

"  Let  that  thing  alone  !  I'm  no  professor,  but  I  hope  I 
know  my  duty,  and  I'll  have  no  French  atheists  here ! " 

Sibyl  flashed  up.  "  It  was  my  reading  book,  and  —  "  but 
the  woman  cut  her  short,  saying,  with  that  indescribable 
motion  of  the  head  and  neck  of  which  I  have  spoken, 
"  You  needn't  waste  words  ;  as  to  your  wanting  books,  there 
is  one  text  which  I  rather  guess  you'll  have  to  study  on  a 
while,  if  you  stay  here,  before  you'll  need  any  more !  — 
'  Six  days  shalt  thou  labor.'  " 

Sibyl  said  no  more,  but  mechanically  obeyed  when 
her  aunt  bade  her  help  carry  the  trunk  to  her  room ;  and 


120  SIBYL. 

long  after  the  old  woman's  quick,  decided  step  had  left  the 
stairs,  she  sat  on  the  side  of  her  bed  with  a  cold,  frozen 
feeling  at  her  heart. 

"  Sibyl,  cousin,  would  you  like  to  go  with  me  after  the 
cows  ?  " 

The  voice  came  from  beneath  the  window,  and  looking 
down,  she  saw  Fred  standing  outside  on  the  sloping  cellar 
door,  looking  up  to  her.  He  looked  pale  and  weary,  and 
Sibyl  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  dark  shadows  around 
his  eyes  gave  to  the  face  something  of  the  look  which  had 
marked  old  Lydia  Blair's  on  the  day  of  her  death;  and 
she  asked  — 

"  Are  you  ill,  cousin  Fred  ?  " 

"  No,  only  tired  to  death.     But  come,  will  you  go  ?  " 

She  quickly  joined  him,  and  they  went  down  the  lane 
back  of  the  barn,  and  along  the  cart  path,  mottled  with  black 
shadows  and  patches  of  mellow  sunlight,  every  step  of  which 
was  marked  with  some  new  discovery  by  Sibyl.  Now  it 
was  a  flower,  a  stone,  a  spire  of  grass,  a  bit  of  moss,  a  bird, 
or  a  tree ;  and  so  learned,  so  wise  did  Fred  seem  in  their 
names,  uses,  or  habits,  —  so  easy  it  was  for  him  to  tell  a 
robin's  nest  from  a  kingbird's,  a  hawk  from  a  crow,  a  piece 
of  barley  stubble  from  one  of  wheat,  that  Sibyl  forgot  his 
bare  feet  and  rude  dress,  and  looked  upon  him  with  genuine 
reverence. 

A  few  nights  after  he  took  a  different  path,  which  led 
them  at  last  up  a  very  steep  ascent.  This  they  climbed 
with  some  difficulty,  for  Sibyl  was  unaccustomed  to  such 


AFTER     THE     COWS.  121 

work,  and  Fred's  breath  came  quick  and  short ;  but  Sibyl 
forgot  all  her  trouble  in  the  beautiful  view  which  awaited 
them  from  the  summit.  Seemingly  at  no  great  distance  lay 
Eltham  village,  and  the  tall  spire  rising  from  amid  the 
thickest  cluster  of  houses  must  be  Eltham  church. 

"  Yes,"  Fred  said ;  "  and  just  beyond  is  the  graveyard 
where  my  mother  lies.  I  can  almost  see  her  grave  from 
here." 

"  You  remember  her,  Fred  ?  " 

"  Remember  her !  I  guess  I  do  !  She  wasn't  like  her, 
Sibyl,  not  one  bit;  no  more  like  her  than  —  than  I  am  like 
what  I  used  to  be ;  but  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I  had  only 
dreamed  about  them  old  times." 

The  lad's  eyes  were  misty  with  tears,  and  Sibyl  pressed 
closer  to  his  side,  and  wound  closer  still  her  slender  fingers 
around  his  brown  hand. 

"  Fred,"  she  said,  at  length,  "  I  don't  think  aunt "  (she 
knew  well  enough  who  the  her  referred  to)  cares  much  for 
children.  She  has  none  of  her  own,  and,  I  suppose,  we  fret 
her.  Then  she's  worried  about  your  father !  How  glad 
you  must  be  to  have  him  come  home  ! " 

Fred  did  not  speak  at  first ;  but  he  finally  said,  "  Yes  ; " 
then,  as  if  anxious  that  his  cousin  should  not  be  deceived 
and  consequently  disappointed,  he  added,  "  Yes,  if  things 
could  be  as  they  used  to  be  ;  but  he  leaves  them  pretty 
much  to  her  when  he  is  here.  See,  Sibyl,  yonder  are  our 
cows." 

"  Are  all  these  fields  yours,  Fred  ?  " 


122  SIBYL. 

"  No ;  they  were  once,  but  they  have  gone  bit  by  bit, 
somehow.  Father  says  land  is  more  plague  than  profit. 
He  sold  the  river  meadows  because  the  freshets  carried 
away  the  fence,  and  he  can't  bear  to  be  bothered.  She 
manages  now,  and  though  there's  hard  work  enough  in  all 
conscience,  we  don't  seem  to  get  along  a  bit.  Sometimes  I 
think,  if  I've  got  to  stay  here  much  longer,  I'd  as  lief  die  at 
once  ;  but  Master  Richard  says  that's  wicked,  and  I  s'pose 
'tis." 

The  listless,  hopeless,  discouraged  attitude  and  look  of 
the  boy,  as  he  sat  there  on  •  the  shelving  rock,  was  far  more 
expressive  than  his  words  ;  and  as  Sibyl  looked  at  him,  she 
felt  for  the  first  time  glad  that  she  was  there.  She  might 
help  him,  and  she  spoke  of  this  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  You  are  good,  I  know.  I  knew  it  the 
moment  I  saw  you.  You  speak  softly,  just  as  my  mother 
used  to,  and  it  does  me  good.  Now,  to-day,"  he  went  on, 
throwing  back  his  long,  dark  hair,  and  fanning  himself  with 
his  straw  hat,  "  the  work  would  have  dragged  a  great  deal 
harder  if  I  had  not  thought  all  the  while  of  bringing  you 
up  here.  I  like  to  come  here  when  I  feel  plagued  and 
cross ;  for  somehow,  up  here,  I  forget  all  about  it  in  a  little 
while.  Can  you  tell  me  why,  Sibyl  ?  " 

She  said  "  no,  unless  because  it  was  so  high  up." 

He  laughed.  "  Yes,  that  must  be  it ;  but  come  round  on 
this  side ;  I  want  to  show  you  something."  He  led  her 
round  a  projecting  corner  of  the  ledge,  and  right  before  her, 
at  scarce  the  distance  of  a  few  rods,  was  the  grand  rock 


FRED'S    OLD    FRIEND.  123 

profile  that  she  saw  each .  day  from  her  window.  The  fea 
tures  stood  boldly  out  in  the  departing  sunlight,  but  the 
cliff  below  was  one  mass  of  deep-black  shadows. 

"  Old  Master  Richard  calls  him  '  The  Preacher,' "  said 
Fred  at  last,  breaking  the  silence.  "  Sometimes  I  start  after 
the  cows  early  Sunday  nights,  and  find  him  up  here,  and 
he  tells  me  what  the  Preacher  says  —  how  it  teaches  hope 
and  patience ;  and  I  like  his  sermons  a  great  deal  better 
than  I  do  Parson  Melvin's,  and  remember  them  better  too." 

"  Is  Master  Richard  a  lame  man  ?  "  asked  Sibyl,  recall 
ing  her  old  friend  at  the  mill  pond. 

"  Yes.  I  am  going  to  take  you  over  there ;  he's  the  best 
old  man  that  ever  breathed ;  and  I  don't  believe  there  is 
any  thing  —  at  any  rate  not  much,"  the  boy  added,  correcting 
himself —  "  that  he  don't  know.  He's  got  an  organ,  Sibyl ; 
I  wish  you  could  hear  it ;  it  is  like  the  wind  in  the  pines 
yonder,  only  a  great  deal  grander.  Then  there's  grand 
mother  Mabel  and  Miss  Silence  —  O  you'll  like  them, 
Sibyl,  first  rate  !  Did  you  ever  hear  an  organ,  cousin  ?  " 

Sibyl  smiled.  "  Yes,  I  took  a  few  lessons  on  one  once  ; 
and  besides,  I  believe  I  have  seen  Master  Fenn." 

And  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  plain  in  search  of  the 
"  milky  mothers  of  the  herd,"  she  told  him  of  her  interview 
with  the  old  gentleman  at  the  pond. 

"  That's  him  !  that's  him  !  But  the  wheel,  J3ibyl ;  what 
did  he  say  of  that  ?  " 

She  could  not  tell  him  all  the  old  man's  words,  but  he 
inferred  from  her  report  that  he  thought  it  a  success ;  and 
he  flung  up  his  ragged  straw  hat  in  delight. 


124  SIBYL. 

"  Because  you  know,  Sibyl,  if  he  says  it  will  do,  it  will," 
he  said,  more  gravely.  "  I  must  go  to  see  him  this  week. 
What  if  I  should  succeed,  after  all,  Sibyl !  " 

He  had  stopped,  and  with  his  large,  dark  eyes  gleaming 
with  enthusiasm,  which  transfigured  his  whole  face  and 
figure,  he  stood  looking  intently,  not  at  the  earth  or  the 
sky,  but  away  towards  the  distant  horizon,  as  if  he  saw 
there  the  realization  of  some  mighty  dream. 

Ah,  boy,  many  and  many  bright,  hopeful  eyes  have 
looked  through  the  same  glowing  vista ;  but  there  came 
clouds  and  shadows,  mistrust  and  doubt,  obstacles  and  hin- 
derances  placed  before  the  stumbling  feet,  by  the  very 
hands,  perchance,  which  should  have  aided  them,  until, 
faint,  hopeless,  and  chilled,  they  have  seen  the  prospect 
close  as  the  ice  encloses  the  mariners  in  the  far  northern 
seas,  and  they  have  been  willing  to  lie  down  in  the  arms 
of  death,  and  wait  the  accomplishment  of  their  aims  in 
that  land  where  shadows  never  come. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

BEFORE  the  grain  harvest  was  over  Sibyl's  uncle  came 
home ;  but  his  presence  did  not  brighten  the  old  farm  house 
as  she  had  hoped.  Indolent  and  easy-tempered  to  a  certain 
point,  he  still  let  his  wife  order  and  plan,  while  he  talked 
largely  of  the  great  amount  of  work  he  had  got  to  do ;  but 
somehow  he  never  seemed  to  get  about  it,  and  to  make  up 
for  his  deficiencies  Mrs.  Monroe  drove  Fred  still  harder 
than  befoz'e.  She  seemed  bent  upon  having  the  labor  of 
three  men  done,  whether  the  third  man  was  there  half  the 
time  or  not.  And  truly,  the  captain  seemed  to  have  a  great 
deal  of  business  to  attend  to  besides  his  farming.  Scarcely 
a  day  passed  in  which  he  did  not  feel  obliged  to  go  down 
to  IT.,  or  drive  over  to  P.,  or  at  least  down  to  the  village, 
for  something ;  and  however  great  the  hurry  at  home, 
he  seldom  returned  before  night,  sometimes  not  until 
late  in  the  evening  ;  and  on  such  occasions  Mrs.  Monroe 
always  seemed  sterner  and  gloomier  than  ever,  and  Fred 
always  contrived  to  slip  away  to  the  little  room  in  the  corn 
house  where  he  kept  his  tools,  or  to  bed. 

Mr.  Monroe  made  a  pet  of  Sibyl,  and  the  look  about  his 
mouth,  so  like  her  father,  would  have  been  quite  enough  to 

(125) 


126  SIBYL. 

win  her  heart ;  but  upon  some  occasions  his  fondness 
became  maudlin,  and  the  child  thought,  for  such  a  sensible- 
looking  man,  he  said  a  great  many  very  foolish  things. 
Though  he  insisted  on  holding  her  upon  his  knee,  and 
calling  her  his  "  poor  little  niece,"  she  did  not  like  him  half 
so  well  as  in  the  morning,  when  he  met  her  with  a  cheerful 
smile  and  a  — 

"  Come,  little  girl ;  get  your  bonnet  and  go  with  me  to 
salt  the  sheep ! "  or  said  to  his  wife,  "  Polly,  I'm  going 
after  the  oxen  ;  can't  Sibyl  go  with  me  ?  I  want  her  to 
stand  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  and  she  looks  as  if  a  run 
would'nt  hurt  her." 

But  to  do  the  captain  justice,  he  made  great  preparations 
towards  getting  ready  to  work,  in  the  way  of  grinding 
scythes,  and  hanging  and  unhanging  them  in  cradles ;  in 
the  mean  time,  the  broad  field  of  oats,  that  had  been  such  a 
thing  of  beauty  to  the  child  since  her  arrival,  stood  waiting 
for  the  laborers. 

"  Come,  hurry,  captain,"  said  Culver,  one  morning,  as  he 
left  the  grindstone  where  Fred  and  he  had  been  busy 
while  the  captain  looked  over  his  paper ;  "  that  cradle  is 
all  right ;  and  if  we  cut  the  oats  and  get  in  that  rye  to 
day,  we've  got  to  move  quickish." 

The  captain  took  a  survey  of  the  sky.  "  It  isn't  going 
to  rain  to-day,  man,  and  the  rye  will  take  no  hurt.  I 
guess  we'll  risk  it,  at  any  rate  ;  for  I  must  go  down  to  John 
Newton's  to  look  at  a  pair  of  steers,  and  Fred  and  you  can 
strike  the  oats.  I'll  be  back  in  a  couple  of  hours." 


CAPTAIN     MONROE.  127 

"  That's  the  last  we  shall  see  of  him  to-day,"  muttered 
Culver  to  Fred,  as  he  shouldered  his  cradle.  "  He's  made 
me  tinker  over  that  confounded  old  cradle  all  the  morning, 
and  here's  an  end  on't." 

Fred  did  not  reply ;  but  the  sad,  desponding  look  with 
which  he  followed  Culver  to  the  field,  fell  like  a  cloud  over 
Sibyl.  She  entered  the  house  in  time  to  hear  her  uncle 
say,  in  a  testy,  irritable  tone,  — 

"  Well,  well,  I  didn't  say  that  it  wouldn't  be  got  in  to 
day.  I  hope  I  know  when  rye  is  fit  to  be  got  in,  and  when 
it  ain't,  without  going  to  you.  But  if  I  had,  all  the  women 
betwixt  here  and  Paradise  wouldn't  make  me  change  my 
mind.  I  won't  be  drove,  any  how." 

People  who  are  always  boasting  of  possessing  a  quality 
are  very  apt  to  lack  it  in  reality  ;  and  though  Captain 
George  Monroe  was  daily  quite  as  emphatic  in  his  declara 
tions  of  marital  independence  as  his  wife  was  in  asserting 
her  docility  and  the  long-suffering  meekness  which  made 
her  little  less  than  a  martyr,  yet,  like  many  others  in  polit 
ical  and  domestic  life,  he  no  more  thought  of  actually  and 
successfully  opposing  her  than  he  would  of  coming  in 
collision  with  an  iceberg. 

Indeed,  an  iceberg  is  no  bad  illustration  of  poor  Mrs. 
Monroe's  cold,  hard  disposition.  Yet  let  us  speak  in 
charity,  for  as  the  iceberg  was  once  fluid,  —  bright,  glad, 
dancing  water  beneath  the  warm  sunbeams,  —  so  there 
may  have  been  a  time  in  her  life  when  her  nature  might 
have  been  developed  into  brightness  and  beauty;  but 


128  SIBYL. 

poverty,  injustice,  and  selfishness  brought  the  "  ice  period  " 
early,  and  congealed  all  that  was  sweet  and  genial  in  her 
heart.  Yet  as  away  down  beneath  the  rushing  waters  the 
iceberg  still  feels  the  influence  of  the  warmth  and  melts  — 
melts  —  melts  —  slowly  but  surely,  so  it  may  be  that, 
beneath  the  great  ocean  of  life,  God  is  fostering  some  influ 
ence  which  shall  touch  even  her  hard  heart,  and  make  it 
warm  and  bright  with  love,  here  or  hereafter. 

Culver  was  right ;  noon  came,  but  still  Mr.  Monroe  did 
not  return.  White,  silver-edged  "  thunder  heads,"  as  the 
country  people  call  them,  were  rising  in  the  west,  and 
crowning,  as  it  seemed,  the  long  sweep  of  hills  in  the 
distant  horizon  with  fantastic  towers  and  battlements. 
Anxious  to  secure  the  grain,  Fred  and  Culver  exerted 
themselves  to  the  utmost ;  and  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Monroe 
and  Sibyl  followed  them  to  the  field  to  assist  in  carrying 
together  the  bundles  into  heaps.  It  was  light  work  ;  but 
Sibyl  did  not  succeed  very  well,  for  the  bearded  grain 
pricked  her  hands,  and  the  light,  loose  soil  got  into  her 
shoes  and  hurt  her  feet ;  and  to  crown  all,  she  caught  her 
dress  upon  a  bush  which  she  did  not  observe,  and  tore  in  it 
a  great  rent.  But  she  soon  forgot  this  misfortune  in  her 
admiration  of  the  rising  storm,  which  had  already  sent 
down,  as  avant-couriers,  a  few  large  drops  of  rain,  when 
she  heard  behind  her  a  loud,  clear  laugh.  She  turned,  and 
saw  a  girl  of  about  her  own  age,  with  a  face  brown  as  a 
berry,  and  great,  bold,  black  eyes,  surveying  her  with  a 
look  of  mingled  mirth  and  contempt. 


MANDY     CULVER.  129 

"  What  in  the  world  made  you  put  on  your  meetin 
clothes  to  come  out  here  ?  "  she  said.  "  Gracious  !  "  if  that 
wasn't  about  cunnin'  enough ! "  and  she  laughed  again, 
showing  a  row  of  large,  even  teeth,  as  she  noted  Sibyl's 
distressed  glance  at  her  rent  dress  and  dirty  stockings. 

Sibyl's  face  flushed,  making  the  scars  there  plainly  visible. 
The  girl  observed  them,  as  she  said,  coolly,  — 

"  You  needn't  get  in  a  huff.  I  didn't  mean  any  thing ; 
I  suppose  it's  York  fashion  to  wear  your  best  frocks  every 
day.  I  wish  'twas  here.  But  what  made  them  spots  on 
your  face  ?  It's  speckled  as  a  turtle." 

"  Mancly  !  Mandy  !  "  called  Culver,  from  another  part  of 
the  field ;  "  what  are  you  1'iterin'  there  for  ?  Come  here, 
and  go  to  work." 

"  There  !  I  might  have  known  father  would  have  set  me 
to  work !  He's  about  as  bad  as  Miss  Monroe,  and  she's 
worse  than  a  harrow.  I  was  a  fool  to  come  up  here  !  " 

Sibyl  followed  the  girl  at  a  distance,  and  was  surprised 
at  the  dexterity  with  which  she  handled  the  bundles  of 
grain,  while  her  tongue  was  not  less  busy  than  her  hands. 
Part  of  the  grain  was  already  on  the  cart,  when  the  rain 
began  to  come  in  earnest,  and  Culver  turned  the  team 
towards  home,  anxious  to  save  that  from  the  storm. 

With  a  glance  at  the  scattered  bundles  left  behind,  and 
muttering  the  word  "  slack  ! "  Mrs.  Monroe  went  towards 
the  house  with  long  strides.  Sibyl  was  about  to  follow,  when 
Mr.  Culver  called  her  to  ride  on  the  load.  She  shook  her 
head  in  dismay  at  the  thought  of  climbing  up  there,  but 


160  SIBYL. 

Mandy  said,  "  O,  she's  afraid ;  but  here's  somebody  that 
ain't ; "  and  climbing  up  like  a  cat,  she  seated  herself  in  the 
middle  of  the  load,  looking  back  to  Sibyl  with  a  grimace. 

By  the  time  the  latter  reached  the  house,  Mandy  came 
flying  after  her,  with  her  sun  bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  her 
mass  of  coarse  but  glittering  black  hair  tumbling  down  her 
back. 

"  Miss  Monroe  ! "  she  cried,  flinging  herself  down  in  a 
chair,  "  mother  wants  you  to  lend  her  a  yeast  cake.  She's 
goin'  to  knead  up  to-night,  and  hern  are  all  gone." 

Mrs.  Monroe  answered  from  the  cellar  way,  where  she 
was  in  some  domestic  operation.  The  girl  came  up  to 
Sibyl,  and  taking  hold  of  her  dress,  without  noticing  her 
attempt  to  withdraw  it,  went  on,  — 

"  That's  an  awful  tear,  ain't  it  ?  But  it's  pretty  stuff.  I 
wonder  what  you  give  for  it." 

Sibyl  said  she  did  not  know  what  it  cost. 

"  Don't !     Have  you  got  any  more  sech  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly ;  some  of  the  same  material,  but  not  the 
same  pattern." 

"  Well,  I'll  come  up  to-morrow  or  next  day,  and  you 
shall  show  'em  to  me.  I'd  have  come  afore,  only  I  haven't 
been  at  home.  I've  got  a  new  pink  muslin ;  but  mother 
won't  let  me  wear  it,  only  to  meetin',  and  Sunday  don't 
come  but  once  a  week.  Kate  White  wears  hers  to  ni^ht 

O 

meetm's  and  apple  bees,  though  'tain't  half  so  pretty  as 
mine.  Don't  you  think  mother's  too  bad  ?  " 

Sibyl  assented,  and  the  girl,  evidently  pleased,  added,  — 


M ANDY'S    COMMISERATION.  131 

"I  don't  believe  you're  so  stuck  up  as  they  say,  after 
all." 

«  Stuck  up  ?  " 

te  Yes ;  they  said  you  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with 
us  ;  that  you  had  never  done  nothin'  but  go  to  school,  and 
talked  jest  as  folks  do  in  books  ;  and  I  can't  bear  books." 

Sibyl  laughed,  and  told  her  that  she  had  never  attended 
school  at  all. 

"  Never  been  to  school !  my  stars !  You  don't  pretend 
to  say  you  can't  read  !  Why,  father  said  you  knew  as 
much  as  Master  Fenn  himself,  and  he  made  an  almanac 
once." 

Sibyl  explained. 

"  O,  that's  it !  studied  at  home  —  how  stupid  !  No  fun 
at  all ;  no  snowballing,  sliding  down  hill,  or  playing  tag." 
The  girl's  glittering  eyes  really  softened  with  commiseration. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  ain't  proud ;  half  so  proud  as  that 
Fred.  He's  ten  times  worse  than  ever  since  you  have 
come.  He  was  mad  as  he  could  be  because  I  laughed  at 
you  for  being  afraid  to  ride  on  the  load,  and  said  he  was 
glad  you  wasn't  like  a  boy.  He  used  to  like  to  have  me 
help  him,  but  he's  gettin'  grand  lately.  Lorinda  Mason 
says  that  the  folks  at  Rockville  are  all  talking  about  some 
whirlgig  or  other  that  he's  made,  and  that  Mr.  Wentworth 
says  he  is  a  genius.  I  wonder  if  Miss  Monroe  is  makin' 
einptin's." 

Mr.  Monroe  did  not  return  until  dark  that  night.  He 
had  swapped  horses  during  the  day,  and  the  advantages  of 


132  SIBYL. 

his  bargain  seemed  to  outweigh,  in  his  mind,  any  damage 
that  the  rain  might  do  to  his  grain,  even  though  there  came 
a  flood.  He  was  in  high  spirits,  but  they  seemed  to  infect 
no  one  but  the  hired  man,  who  laughed  loudly  at  some  of 
his  jokes. 

Mrs.  Monroe  seemed  to  gather  the  whole  gloom  of  the 
night  into  her  face ;  she  did  not  sit  at  the  supper  table,  but 
poured  the  tea  standing,  with  compressed  lips  and  elongated 
neck,  putting  down  the  teapot  and  setting  back  the  chairs 
with  a  force  that  seemed  to  do  her  good. 

Fred  had  scarcely  tasted  his  supper,  and  as  soon  as  pos 
sible  Sibyl  stole  out  to  the  small  work  room,  where  she 
expected  to  find  him.  He  was  not  there,  and  she  was  re 
turning  to  the  house,  when  she  saw  him  sitting  upon  the 
shaving  horse,  under  the  great  apple  tree  in  the  yard. 

He  did  not  see  her,  and  she  went  up  to  him,  and  put  her 
hand  upon  his  head. 

"  Fred,  dear,  you  have  no  hat  nor  jacket ;  you  will  catch 
cold.  See  how  the  wind  shakes  down  the  rain  drops  from 
the  leaves.  You  must  come  in.  I  thought  you  were  in  the 
shop." 

"  I  couldn't  breathe  there,  nor  in  the  house.  Go  away. 
Go  in,  Sibyl,  and  let  me  be." 

He  spoke  impatiently,  almost  harshly. 

"  Fred ! " 

"I'm  sorry,  Sibyl;  I'm  cross,  to-night,  and  discouraged. 
I  wish  I  was  dead." 

"  0,  no,  no,  Fred." 


FRED'S    SORROW.  133 

"  I  do,"  ho  went  on  vehemently.  "  What's  the  use  in 
trying  to  live  ?  It  grows  on  him  all  the  while,  Sibyl." 

"  It !     What,  Fred  ?  " 

"  What !  But  how  should  you  know  ?  "  he  says,  sadly ; 
and  drawing  her  face  close  down  to  his,  he  whispers  one 
word. 

Ah,  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  whisper  so  low,  boy,  as  if 
you  feared  to  betray  your  secret  to  the  ears  of  night.  It  is 
no  secret  to  others.  You  have  dwelt  upon  the  terrible  word 
until  it's  dreadful  significance  haunts  even  your  dreams, 
and  takes  the  light  out  of  your  boyish  heart,  and  yet  have 
never  before  dared  to  speak  it  to  another  ;  but  go  down  to 
Cheeny's,  at  the  village,  or  over  to  Hitchcock's,  or  across  to 
Rockville  —  stop  at  any  country  tavern  on  the  drovers' 
route  between  here  and  New  York,  and  you  will  hear  the 
word  blabbed  out  by  a  dozen  lips,  should  you  chance  to 
speak  of  George  Monroe ;  nay,  Sibyl  understands  it  —  the 
effects  of  champagne  taken  at  the  magnificent  club  rooms  in 
Broadway,  and  the  villanous  compounds  sold  for  spirituous 
liquors  in  New  England  dram  shops,  do  not  differ  much, 
and  there  is  another  bond  of  sympathy  between  you, 
brothers'  children  as  ye  are. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

STEP  along,  Sibyl ;  don't  look  so  ruefully  at  your  wet, 
muddy  boots  and  that  snowy  floor.  That  tall,  thin  woman 
at  the  table  yonder,  rolling  out  piecrust,  is  not  Mrs.  Polly 
Monroe.  She  won't  scold  if  you  do  chance  to  leave  the 
print  of  your  little  boot  upon  the  boards. 

To  be  sure  she  has  no  children.  Her  eye  never  light 
ens  to  the  holiest  of  all  names  —  mother ;  but,  withered, 
wrinkled  as  she  is  now,  she  was  once  young,  and,  away 
back  in  her  sunny  youth,  who  knows  how  many  dream 
children  nestled  in  her  heart  ?  Some,  we  fancy,  —  for  she 
is  woman,  —  and  for  their  sakes  she  will  be  kind  and  gentle 
with  you. 

No,  there  are  no  children  here.  Dear  Master  Fenn  and 
his  sister  Silence  are  "  old  bachelor  "  and  "  old  maid ; "  but 
long  ago  they  learned  the  meaning  of  our  Saviour's  words, 
"  Unless  ye  become  as  little  children,  ye  cannot  become  my 
disciples,"  and  the  lesson  has  brought  its  reward.  Child 
like  and  child-loving  themselves,  they  have  a  share  in  the 
hearts  of  all  the  children  in  the  town. 

But,  at  first  glance,  no  one  would  suspect  their  riches  — 
that  they  share  so  largely  in  the  divine  Master's  legacy ; 

(134) 


AT     MASTER     FENN's.  135 

for  Miss  Silence's  face  is  thin  and  something  wrinkled ;  her 
hair  is  streaked  with  gray,  and  put  up  most  ungracefully,  in 
little  round  rings  upon  each  temple,  fastened  with  a  piece 
of  broom  splinter ;  her  form  angular,  and  her  dress  scant, 
somewhat  passe  ;  and  most  of  us  worldly-wise  people  would 
set  her  down  as  a  poor,  meagre,  unattractive  soul.  But  the 
instincts  of  children  are  more  correct.  They  have  wandered 
but  a  little  way  from  the  true  heaven,  and  they  see  in  her  a 
kind,  genial  soul,  scarcely  less  true  and  loving  than  the 
angels  they  had  left  behind. 

It  may  be  a  shade  better  with  Master  Richard,  or 
"  brother  Dick,"  as  she  usually  calls  him.  His  face  has 
more  sunshine  in  it,  —  probably  because  he  is  more  out  in 
the  open  air,  —  his  manners  an  easier  grace ;  but  he  is  far 
from  handsome,  and  his  coat  is  an  old-fashioned,  long-waisted, 
square-skirted  affair,  with  great  brass  buttons ;  his  panta 
loons  in  the  old  gaiter  style,  that  makes  his  small  ankles  look 
still  smaller,  and  his  long  foot  still  longer ;  and  his  cork  sole 
makes  a  heavy  clumping  on  the  uncarpeted  floor,  to  say 
nothing  of  that  ungraceful  limp ;  but  we  have  seen  how 
little  timid  Sibyl  was  ready  to  put  her  hand  in  his,  down  by 
the  mill  pond,  and  we  know  that  the  many  years  he  has 
spent  as  the  village  schoolmaster  have  only  deepened  his 
love  and  reverence  for  little  children,  and  brought  his 
nature  into  harmony  with  theirs. 

And  we  must  not  forget  that  small,  delicate-featured,  neat- 
looking  old  lady,  in  her  deep  arm  chair,  by  the  fire.  We 
were  wrong  in  saying  there  were  no  children  here.  Grand- 


136  SIBYL. 

mother  Mabel  is  one  in  helplessness  as  well  as  in  simple, 
loving  faith.  She  is  almost  ninety,  and  for  several  years 
has  looked  upon  life  only  through  the  eyes  of  her  children ; 
for  she  is  blind. 

Poor  old  Mabel  Fenn  !  No,  not  even  the  Eltham  people 
say  that ;  for  they  all  know  that  Richard  and  Silence  are 
as  eyes  to  her,  and  that  they  still  listen  to  her  with  respect 
and  obedience  ;  for  the  old  lady  clings  to  old  habits.  She 
likes  to  say  that  by  such  a  day  "the  walnut  buds  will 
begin  to  open,  and  asks  Richard  if  Tom  Briggs  will  be 
ready  to  plant  the  corn,"  and  "  fixes  "  with  her  own  hands 
the  planting  bag,  because  he  is  "  such  a  shiftless  body,  he 
never  has  one  of  his  own  ;  "  or  to  say  to  Silence,  "  You  had 
best  look  after  the  yeast,  child,  for  to-morrow  we  must 
bake."  And  they  —  God  bless  them !  —  lead  her  along  so 
gently,  indulging  all  her  little  peculiarities,  that  she  hardly 
realizes  that  she  is  old  and  blind,  much  less  that  they,  on 
whom  she  so  fondly  leans,  and  of  whom  she  speaks  as 
"  that  boy,"  or  "  that  girl,"  are  themselves  gray -haired, 
middle-aged  people. 

The  house,  like  its  tenants,  is  old  and  quaint,  irregular 
and  ill  constructed,  even  older  and  less  outwardly  respec 
table  than  the  old  Monroe  house  ;  but,  within,  it  is  warm,  and 
bright,  and  cheerful,  and  the  figures  of  Fred  and  Sibyl, 
whom  we  left  standing  in  the  doorway,  saturated  with  the 
thick  November  mist,  are  transfigured  by  its  light. 

Here  Fred  was  always  sure  of  a  welcome.  He  and 
Sibyl  had  been  abroad  in  the  woods  some  hours  in  search 


AT     MASTER     F  E  N  N  '  S  .  137 

of  a  missing  ewe ;  and  the  mist,  so  light  when  they  started, 
had  grown  more  dense  and  as  penetrating  as  a  settled  rain. 
She  was  shivering  with  cold,  and  old  grandmother  Fenn 
warmed  her  checked  apron  by  the  fire,  and  folded  her  little 
chilly  hands  in  it  again  and  again,  while  she  talked  to  her 
of  her  father,  and  the  days  when  he  was  a  boy ;  while  Miss 
Silence  hastily  wiped  the  flour  from  her  hands,  and  insisted 
upon  removing  the  child's  wet  gaiters. 

"  Miserable  things  in  weather  like  this !  "  she  said,  as  she 
pulled  and  straightened  them,  and  set  them  by  the  fire  to 
dry.  "  Fred  Monroe,  you  ought  to  have  known  better  than 
to  take  her  with  you  in  such  a  mist." 

Fred  had  not  thought  of  its  being  so  wet ;  but  the  good 
woman  caught  up  her  rolling  pin,  with  a  threatening  ges 
ture,  as  she  said, — 

"  Then  you  deserve  a  ducking !  You,  that  have  been 
brought  up  under  the  nose  of  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain, 
not  to  know  when  it's  going  to  rain.  The  wind  was  due 
east  in  the  morning,  and  the  chickweed  has  not  opened  an 
eye  to-day.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  sir. 
Ay,  here  comes  brother  Dick !  I'll  leave  it  to  him." 

Brother  Dick  did  not  look  very  ferocious ;  but  Sibyl, 
scarcely  understanding  the  good  woman's  banter,  turned  to 
her  old  friend  very  earnestly,  — 

"  0  sir,  he  is  not  in  the  least  to  blame  !  I  wanted  to  go 
with  him  so  much !  I  was  so  tired  of  staying  in  the 
house !  " 

"  Well,  well,  the  best  thing  is  for  you  to  get  dry  now, 
children.  Did  you  find  your  lost  sheep,  Fred  ?  " 


138  SIBYL. 

«  No,  sir." 

"  And  he  would  have  taken  me  home  when  it  first  began 
to  be  so  wet,  sir ;  but  I  would  not  let  him,  for  aunt  said  we 
must  look  until  we  found  it,  and  I  was  afraid  she  would  not 
like  it,"  said  Sibyl. 

"  Look  till  you  found  it,  in  such  weather  as  this ! "  ex 
claimed  Miss  Silence,  indignantly.  "  She  thinks  more  of 
losing  a  sheep  any  time  than  of " 

"  There,  there,  Silence,  that  will  do,"  interposed  Master 
Richard,  with  a  significant  glance ;  "  we  shan't  make  her 
any  wise  different  by  talking  about  her.  She  has  doubtless 
some  good  in  her,  though  we  may  fail  to  see  it,  Silence. 
May  be  this  little  one  will  draw  it  out,  and  make  it  visible." 

"  Silence,  child,  the  boy  is  right.  The  tongue  is  an  un 
ruly  member.  We  must  not  speak  ill  of  our  neighbors," 
said  old  Mother  Fenn,  turning  her  sightless  eyes  towards 
her  daughter. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to,  mother,  and  I  know  Dick  is  right  — 
he  always  is,"  said  Silence  ;  "  but  I  must  say,  it's  little  bet 
ter  than  murder  to  send  a  child  out  in  such  weather,  in  such 
clothes.  Feel,  mother,"  she  added,  placing  in  her  mother's 
hand  a  fold  of  Sibyl's  thin  summer  dress ;  "  and  then  those 
boots  —  the  soles  are  just  like  brown  paper.  My  little 
girl,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Sibyl,  "  you  are  old  enough 
to  use  more  judgment  about  your  dress." 

Sibyl  did  know  better.  She  had  not  been  there  long  be 
fore  she  felt  that  the  wardrobe  suitable  to  her  former  life 
was  no  way  adapted  to  this ;  and  her  torn,  soiled,  half 


AT     MASTER     FENN's.  139 

washed  garments  brought  more  tears  to  her  eyes  than  the 
blisters  on  her  hands,  raised  in  the  process  of  washing,  or 
even  Mrs.  Monroe's  caustic  criticisms. 

More  than  once,  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  placing  the 
small  sum  of  money  which  she  had  in  her  purse  in  her 
aunt's  hands,  and  asking  her  to  purchase  for* her  some  suit 
able  frocks  and  shoes ;  but  she  was  by  no  means  perfect, 
and  some  ill-timed  sneer  at  the  connection  between  her 
dress  and  her  father's  failure,  or  fling  at  pride  and  poverty, 
would  rouse  in  her  a  sort  of  a  stubborn  anger,  which  made 
it  seem  a  duty  to  her  father  to  wear  the  things  he  had  pro 
vided. 

But  her  anger  did  not  trouble  Mrs.  Monroe ;  she  knew 
the  value  of  steady  perseverance,  and  for  some  weeks, 
although  constantly  complaining  in  a  way  to  make  the  child 
feel  that  she  was  a  burden,  she  as  constantly  refused  her 
offers  to  aid  her.  Deprived  of  her  books,  and  kept  for  most 
of  the  time  in  the  house,  Sibyl  would  gladly  have  helped 
her  in  whatever  she  was  able ;  but  whenever  she  spoke  of 
it,  Mrs.  Monroe  extended  her  giraffe-like  neck,  and  pointing 
to  her  dress,  said, — 

"  People  who  wear  such  fine  clothes  are  not  expected  to 
work  —  they  only  make  slaves  of  other  people." 

Now,  beneath  Miss  Silence's  gentle  glance,  the  girl  burst 
into  tears,  saying,  — 

"  I  did  not  know  better  at  first,  ma'am,  but  I  do  now  — 
only  I  am  very,  very  wicked." 

«  Wicked ! " 


140  SIBYL. 

"  She  isn't.  It's  no  such  thing.  Sibyl,  how  can  you  say 
so  ?  "  cried  Fred,  impetuously.  "  Don't  you  believe  her, 
Miss  Silence." 

"  Fred,"  said  old  Master  Richard,  "  you  come  to  my  den 
with  me ;  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

"  Now,  will  you  tell  me  what  makes  you  bad,  Sibyl  ?  " 
said  Miss  Silence,  taking  a  bowl  of  apples  from  the  table  to 
slice,  and  sitting  down  close  by  Sibyl. 

"  I  don't  know.  Mamma  used  to  say  I  was  selfish ; " 
and  with  a  sort  of  deprecating  gesture,  she  turned  her  face, 
upon  which  her  agitation  and  the  cold  had  brought  out  the 
scars,  and  added,  "  You  see  people  don't  love  me  at  first  — 
especially  strangers.  Aunt  does  not  love  me  at  all.  I  feel 
in  the  way  all  the  while,  and " 

"  0  child,  that's  a  mistake,"  interrupted  old  grandmother 
Mabel.  "  I  know  all  about  that.  See  here  ;  when  the  ill 
ness  which  came  on  to  me  after  that  girl's  father  died,  fell 
into  my  eyes,  and  the  blue  film  shut  out  day  by  day  more 
and  more  of  the  light,  until  I  could  not  see  at  all,  —  not 
even  my  own  hand  before  my  face,  —  I  felt  just  so.  I  said, 
I'm  right  in  the  way  now ;  nobody'll  care  for  the  old  blind 
body ;  I  shall  be  only  a  plague  and  a  trouble.  And  I 
wished  I  had  died  instead  of  father ;  but  God  let  me  see 
how  much  I  wronged  him  and  my  children  ;  for  they  do 
love  me,  child,  though  it's  all  of  his  mercy,  of  course ;  they 
are  better  to  me  than  twenty  eyes ;  and  even  the  neighbors, 
and  the  little  children,  don't  forget  me.  I  tell  'em  I'm  a 
poor,  blind  old  woman ;  but  they  ask  me  about  this  and  that, 


AT    MASTER    FENN's  141 

just  as  if  I  was  as  wise  as  Solomon.  Never  feel  in  that 
way,  child.  Silence,  I  guess  by  this  time  you'll  want  two 
more  sticks  in  the  oven." 

Silence  said,  "  Yes,  mother ;  "  and  getting  up,  stirred  the 
red  hot  coals  in  the  oven  with  her  long-handled  fire  shovel, 
put  in  the  two  sticks,  and  with  her  face  all  a-glow  with 
heat,  took  her  seat  again,  saying,  — 

"  You  did  not  finish  what  you  were  saying,  child ;  what 
was  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  love  aunt,  and  I  don't  want  to." 

Something  like  "  I  don't  wonder  "  rose  to  Miss  Silence's 
lips,  but  she  was  too  wise  to  utter  it ;  she  only  said,  "  So 
you  could  love  her  if  you  chose." 

"  I  don't  know  —  it  would  be  very  hard ;  besides,  she 
don't  care  to  have  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Miss  Silence,  musingly,  "  it  is  hard, 
sometimes,  to  do  right  —  hard  for  the  old,  as  well  as  the 
young  ;  but  if  we  love  only  those  who  love  us,  what  thank 
have  we  ?  That  sometimes  seems  a  hard  saying  to  me, 
especially  when  I  think  of  such  folks  as  Polly  ;  but  there 
may  be,  as  brother  Dick  says,  more  good  in  her  than  I  see. 
I  have  e'en-a-most  given  her  up  myself;  but  Dick  says  love 
and  patience  can  work  miracles  sometimes.  But  hark ! 
there's  Dick's  organ  !  you  like  that ! "  she  added,  as  the 
child  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  stood  listening,  her  little  pale, 
sad  face  bright  with  delight. 

Sibyl  did  not  speak,  and  grandmother  Mabel,  laying  down 
her  knitting,  said,  with  a  gratified  smile,  — 


142  SIBYL. 

"  Ah,  that's  '  Old  Hundred.'  It  sounds  almost  as  well  as 
when  father  and  I  used  to  sing  it  in  the  choir.  Dick  knows 
what  I  like,  though  I'd  rather  hear  him  sing  than  play.  I 
never  used  to  think  much  of  instruments." 

"Sibyl!  Sibyl!" 

The  face  Fred  showed  in  the  doorway  was  bright  and 
hopeful,  unlike  the  worn,  weary,  despondent  one  which 
he  had  carried  into  that  room ;  it  was  as  if  he  had  looked 
upon  the  face  of  an  angel. 

He  had  done  better.  We  say  it  with  all  reverence,  and 
all  gratitude  for  the  "  cloud  of  witnesses  "  with  which  we 
are  surrounded ;  but  there  are  seasons,  when  all  souls,  but 
more  especially  the  young,  need  human  sympathy ;  human 
voices,  to  whisper  courage  to  their  hearts  ;  human  hands,  to 

» 

strengthen,  by  the  magnetism  of  their  touch ;  human  eyes, 

—  kind,  loving,  friendly  eyes,  —  in  which  they  may  find 
again  the  faith  so  easily  troubled. 

Fred  Monroe  had  looked  into  the  face  of  a  "  good  man," 
and  his  boyish  heart  was  lightened  of  half  its  troubles.  O, 
those  quiet,  unpretending,  humble  souls,  whose  biographies 
remain  unwritten,  —  whose  names  even  are  unknown,  — 
those  Samaritans  of  the  heart,  whose  unguents  are  the 
"  charity  which  hopcth  all  things,  and  endureth  all  things," 

—  how  much  we  owe  them  ! 

It  may  seem  a  little  thing  to  lighten  the  sorrows  of  a 
child  ;  but  Master  Richard  Fenn  thought  otherwise.  None 
knew  better  than  he  the  trials  that  beset  poor  Fred  ;  none 
better  knew  his  faults,  and  none  more  keenly  appreciated 


MASTER  FENN'S   ORGAN.  143 

the  really  remarkable  mechanical  genius  of  the  boy.  He 
had  supplied  him  with  books,  purchased  him  tools,  and  even 
succeeded  in  interesting  the  proprietor  of  the  neighboring 
factory  village  in  his  future. 

Fred  would  be  sixteen  in  the  spring ;  he  had  an  earnest 
wish  to  enter  the  shop  of  Mr.  Leffingwell,  the  best  machinist 
in  the  state,  in  order  to  obtain  that  thorough  knowledge 
of  practical  mechanics  so  necessary  to  the  successful  in 
ventor.  Master  Richard  had  been  telling  him  that  through 
Mr.  Wentworth's  interest,  his  application  had  been  suc 
cessful  ;  and  then,  to  calm  the  boy's  excited  feelings,  he  had 
opened  his  beloved  instrument,  and  begun  to  play. 

The  organ  was  chiefly  the  old  man's  handiwork,  clumsy 
and  rough  in  its  appearance,  but  fine  toned  and  sacred  as 
the  blossoming  of  his  deep  and  true  love  of  music.  The 
room  in  which  it  stood  was  long  and  narrow,  seemingly  an 
addition  to  the  main  building ;  for  you  stepped  down  upon 
entering,  and  the  walls  were  cracked,  the  wood  work  guilt 
less  of  paint,  and  brown  with  age  ;  the  windows  narrow  and 
uncurtained,  save  by  the  clumps  of  lilacs,  and  Guelder  roses 
beneath  them,  for  Master  Richard  loved  the  light.  A  chintz- 
covered  arm  chair  or  two  stood  by  the  western  window,  and 
on  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  light  bench,  with  some  me 
chanical  tools  upon  it,  and  a  few  white  shavings  scattered 
beneath.  It  was,  as  the  old  man  aptly  termed  it,  "  his  den." 

Fred  had  already  told  him  what  Sibyl  had  said  about 
her  lessons  upon  the  organ,  and  as  she  entered  he  resigned 
the  stool  to  her.  A  few  bars  convinced  him  that  in  execu- 


144  SIBTL. 

tion,  at  least,  she  was  his  master ;  and  he  listened  with  de 
light,  and  a  kind  of  loving  reverence,  as  she  gave  piece  after 
piece  from  his  favorite  Handel. 

Soon  came  the  old  blind  mother  Mabel,  and  Miss  Si 
lence  ;  and  their  faces  reflected  the  wonder  and  surprise  that 
looked  out  from  Fred's  eyes. 

"It  minds  me  of  the  angels,"  whispered  old  grand 
mother  ;  "  play  on,  little  one  ; "  and  forgetful  of  the  cold  and 
wet,  the  sorrow  and  loneliness,  the  child  did  play  on,  while 
the  humble  listeners  stood  around,  and  the  whole  atmos 
phere  of  the  narrow  room  seemed  full  of  peace  and  love. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

WEEKS  and  months  fled.  Long  since,  the  deep  bays  and 
high  scaffolds  in  the  barn  had  been  filled  with  hay  and  gold 
en  grain  ;  the  corn  house  held  its  yellow  harvest ;  the  brown- 
coated  potatoes  were  heaped  high  in  their  allotted  bins  in 
the  dark  old  cellar,  flanked  by  families  of  apples  —  green 
ings,  seek-no-farthers,  baldwins,  and  the  somewhat  com 
mon  and  plebeian  race  of  pippins,  all  showing  their  tempt 
ing  cheeks  in  the  mottled  light  streaming  in  faintly  through 
the  narrow  cellar  windows,  and  sending  up  a  flavor  as  ap 
petizing  as  those  which  grew  in  the  gardens  of  Solomon ; 
the  winter  grains  were  sown,  and  the  tender,  green  spires 
showed  like  a  young  spring ;  the  young  cattle  and  sheep 
were  brought  home  from  the  distant  hill-side  pastures ;  the 
woods  grew  bare  and  barren,  and  the  wild  geese,  with  their 
hoarse,  clanging  cry,  began  to  pass  southward ;  and  still 
there  came  no  word  to  Sibyl  from  her  parents. 

But  she  has  not  ceased  to  hope,  and  every  time  Fred 
goes  to  the  village,  she  watches  for  his  return  with  eager, 
restless  hope. 

She  is  stringing  the  quarters  of  apples  now,  beneath  the 
old  kitchen  window.  Mrs.  Monroe  has  found  some  "  specked 
10  (14o) 


146  SIBYL. 

ones  "  in  the  cellar,  and  as  she  permits  nothing  to  be  lost, 
she  keeps  Sibyl  at  work  preparing  them  for  drying ;  and 
day  after  day  finds  her  seated  there,  with  her  knife  and 
bowl. 

"  She  is  broken  in  now,  as  far  as  such  a  good-for-nothing 
idle  thing  can  be,"  her  aunt  says  ;  and  surely  she  looks  spir 
itless  and  quiet  enough. 

"  She  always  seemed  quiet  enough  —  more  like  a  little 
frightened  mouse,"  said  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Culver,  one  day, 
in  reply  to  a  remark  like  the  above.  "  I  wish  Mandy  was 
like  her." 

"  She's  got  grit  enough  for  a  dozen,  I  can  tell  you,"  was 
the  reply ;  "  but  it  takes  me  to  quiet  it.  I'll  have  no  idle, 
shiftless  bodies  about  me." 

Ah,  Mrs.  Monroe!  She  wears  a  shilling  calico  dress 
now,  a  checked  apron,  thick  leather  boots,  pares  apples, 
washes  dishes,  sews,  sweeps,  dusts,  irons,  &c.,  with  tolera 
ble  skill,  and  without  a  word  of  complaint;  but  if  you 
think  you  have  killed  the  world  of  thought  within  her,  the 
yearnings  and  aspirations  for  some  higher  life  than  this 
mere  drudgery,  that  fill  her  heart  —  if  you  fancy  your 
harsh  tones  have  completely  exorcised  her  dreams  of  beauty 
and  delicate  appreciation  of  all  that  lies  beyond  your  mere 
money-getting  sphere,  you  are  mistaken.  These  are  plants 
of  immortal  growth  —  you  can  stunt,  but,  God  be  praised, 
not  kill  them. 

It  is  little  she  thinks  of  the  apples  as  she  sits  there,  ex 
cept  it  be  when  the  long  darning  needle,  used  so  mechani- 


THE    LETTERS.  147 

cally,  pricks  her  fingers.  She  is  looking  for  Fred,  and,  as 
he  comes  up  the  road  on  a  full  canter,  and  catching  sight  of 
her,  holds  up  a  letter,  she  springs  to  her  feet,  and  the  apples 
are  scattered  upon  the  floor. 

Never  mind,  child ;  there  will  be  apples  another  year ; 
they  will  set,  and  ripen,  and  fall,  for  years,  upon  the  same 
trees,  long  after  the  hands  which  traced  that  letter  are  still 
in  the  grave  ;  run  out  and  catch  the  precious  missive  before 
Fred's  foot  touches  the  ground,  or  he  can  get  breath  to  utter 
his  glad  — 

«  Hurrah !     I'm  so  glad,  Sibyl ! " 

She  held  the  letter  in  her  hand ;  —  the  letter  with  its  for 
eign  postmark,  for  which  she  had  so  long  hoped  and  waited ; 
and  yet,  for  her  life,  she  could  not  open  it  —  not  just  then ; 
there  was  such  a  fluttering  about  her  heart,  such  a  trem 
bling  of  her  limbs,  that  she  could  hardly  reach  the  house. 

Fred  followed  with  his  bundle  of  "  notions,"  for  he  had 
had  other  errands  to  the  village  besides  looking  for  a  letter, 
his  joy  half  dampened  by  the  fact  that  she  did  not  open  it 
at  once,  half  doubting  if  she  was  so  "  very  glad  "  after  all, 
and  still  further  puzzled  by  the  burst  of  tears  with  which 
she  replied  to  some  words  of  his. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  so  glad ! "  he  said,  as  he 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  scattered  apples  before  Mrs.  Monroe, 
who  was  bending  over  the  hearth  engaged  in  some  culinary 
operation,  should  observe  them. 

"  I  am  too  glad,  Fred  ! " 

1t  0,  if  that's  it,  cry  away !  "  and  his  face  brightening  at 


148  SIBYL. 

this  explanation,  he  sprang  out  the  door  to  attend  to  his 
horse. 

She  obeyed ;  but  Mrs.  Monroe,  looking  up,  seemed  to 
take  a  different  view  of  her  tears. 

"  What  upon  airth  are  you  crying  for  now  ?  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  Now  you've  got  your  letter,  why  don't  you  read 
it?  There'll  be  time  enough  to  cry  afterwards." 

Sibyl  rose  to  go  to  her  room,  but  Mrs.  Monroe  checked 
her. 

"  You  can  read  it  here,  I  s'pose.  I'll  have  no  secrets  in 
my  house.  I  don't  believe  any  body  ever  see  such  an 
unreasonable  girl,  —  crying  'cause  you  hadn't  got  a  letter, 
and  now  crying  'cause  you  have.  Why  don't  you  read, 
and  see  what  they  say  ?  " 

She  opened  the  letter,  and  as  she  did  so  a  ten  dollar  bank 
note  fell  to  the  floor.  Mrs.  Monroe  seized  it  with  avidity. 

"  Only  ten  dollars  ! "  she  said,  a  shade  of  disappointment 
darkening  her  face,  "  and  that  counterfeit,  I'll  warrant. 
But  it's  quite  as  much  as  I  expected." 

Sibyl  did  not  heed  her.  She  was  greedily  devouring 
her  father's  words.  He  spoke  of  their  voyage,  of  their 
arrival  in  good  health,  and  the  hope  he  had  of  some  time 
sending  for  her  and  Willie.  But  he  told  nothing  of  his 
business,  and  the  letter  seemed  filled  more  with  reminis 
cences  of  Eltham  than  any  thing  else,  and  in  connection 
with  these  he  spoke  of  her  studies. 

"  You  will  find  a  plenty  of  occupation  there  for  your 
pencil,  Sibyl,"  he  wrote,  "for  I  know  no  place  richer  in 


THE     LETTERS.  149 

picturesque  scenery ;  but  I  doubt  whether  you  will  find 
any  one  there  competent  to  teach  you  much.  You  will 
have  to  rely  upon  yourself;  but  remember,  practice  makes 
perfect.  French  and  music  you  will  continue  to  pursue, 
and  if  your  uncle  will  hire  you  a  piano,  I  shall  be  very 
glad,  for  you  ought  to  practise  at  least  two  hours  every  clay. 
I  will  see  that  he  is  repaid  for  his  trouble. 

"  I  send  you  a  trifle,  which  is  for  your  own  exclusive  use. 
It  is  much  less  than  you  have  been  accustomed  to  receive, 
but  the  times  are  changed  with  us  all." 

Her  father's  letter  enclosed  one  from  her  mother,  and 
this  she  eagerly  opened.  It  was  short,  written  in  "great 
haste"  Elsie  said,  and  the  daughter  sighed,  for  she  had 
hoped  her  mother  would  be  able  to  command  more  time 
abroad ;  but  it  began  with,  "  My  dear  child,"  and  in  the 
love  light  of  those  words  she  read  what  followed,  and  saw 
nothing  partial  in  the  fact  that  her  mother  had  taken  half 
of  the  money  her  father  designed  for  her,  to  add  to  Wil 
lie's  allowance. 

"  Your  father  is  so  unreasonable,  Sibyl !  It  is  useless  for 
me  to  attempt  to  convince  him  that  Willie  needs  a  much 
larger  allowance  than  you.  In  that  out-of-the-way  place, 
with  your  kind  uncle  and  aunt,  who  doubtless  make  a  pet 
of  you,  you  can  want  but  very  little. 

"  At  a  public  school  he  is  bound  to  keep  up  a  certain 
appearance.  He  must  keep  up  with  the  others,  for  he 
would  die  to  be  thought  mean  ;  and  the  boys  there,  his  asso 
ciates,  are  among  the  wealthiest  in  the  city,  and  their 


150  SIBYL. 

friendship  may  be  worth  a  great  deal  to  him  in  the  days  to 
come. 

"  Your  father  '  pshaws  '  at  this  ;  but  you  will  agree  with 
me,  Sibyl,  and  see  that  I  have  only  done  what  is  right  in 
taking  some  of  your  allowance  for  that  darling  boy. 

"  P.  S.  I  intend  to  persuade  your  father  to  let  Willie 
come  out  to  us  when  his  term  expires  ;  then  we  will,  some 
day,  if  we  continue  to  stay  here,  send  for  you.  So  don't 
run  quite  wild  down  there. 

"  I  saw  Maggie  Ellerton  the  other  day.  She  has  grown 
into  a  most  beautiful  girl,  and  dresses  with  exquisite  taste. 
I  think  a  Parisian  artiste  would  do  much  for  you." 

Sibyl  was  not  permitted  to  dream  long  over  her  letters. 
Mrs.  Monroe  insisted  upon  being  made  acquainted  with 
their  contents ;  but  when  she  reached  the  suggestion  in 
regard  to  a  piano,  her  indignation  burst  forth. 

"  Piano  !  Sibyl  Monroe,  is  your  father  a  fool,  or  does  he 
s'pose  that  I  am  ?  Piano  !  —  in  this  house  !  Is  that  all, 
child  ?  " 

"  All  of  any  consequence,  save  his  wish  to  be  remem 
bered  to  uncle  and  you." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that.  There's  little  danger  of  our 
forgetting  him ; "  and  the  neck  was  darted  out  with  a 
motion  which  plainly  said  the  rest,  —  "  as  long  as  we  have 
his  child  to  support."  But  for  once  Sibyl  paid  little  heed 
to  it. 

Fred  had  not  seen  her  look  so  happy  since  she  came  to 
them,  as  she  did  that  night  as  they  sat  upon  the  bench 
beneath  the  old  apple  tree,  and  talked  of  France. 


FRED'  s    PLAN.  151 

"  Your  father  is  right,  Sibyl ;  you  ought  to  go  to  school. 
If  we  are  heathen  here,  it  is  no  reason  why  we  should 
make  one  of  you.  You  must  go  this  winter ;  I  will  talk 
to  father  about  it,"  said  Fred,  gravely. 

"  I  am  afraid  aunt  will  never  consent,  Fred.  She  said 
the  other  day,  that  I  must  learn  to  earn  something  this 
winter,  and  that  she  should  take  some  sewing  from  the 
shops  in  Rockville,  as  soon  as  the  fall  work  was  done." 

"  Hang  the  work !  But  she  must  consent,  Sibyl.  And 
I  think  she  will,  now  you  have  money  enough  to  pay  your 
own  bills.  "What  have  you  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  She  took  it," 

The  boy's  face  fell.  "  That's  too  bad.  You  should  have 
kept  it  yourself." 

"  Of  course  she  will  give  it  to  me  when  I  ask  her  ?  " 

"  May  be  so.  But  I  have  five  dollars  of  my  own,  and 
there  are  lots  of  walnuts  this  year,  which  are  always  consid 
ered  my  property.  Father  said,  before  he  went  off  this 
last  time,  I  might  have  ten  bushels  of  corn  if  I  would  get 
the  crop  in  alone  ;  and  as  I  have  decided  not  to  go  to  school 
this  winter,  you  shall  have  all  mine." 

Sibyl  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  She  knew  that  the 
one  wish  of  his  heart  had  been  to  attend  the  Eltham  Acad 
emy  the  coining  winter,  that  he  might  not,  as  he  termed  it, 
"  seem  quite  a  heathen "  when  he  went  to  Springfield  to 
learn  his  trade.  They  had  often  talked  the  matter  over 
together,  and  she  knew  not  what  to  make  of  this  sudden 
change. 


152  SIBYL. 

"  Not  go  to  school,  Fred  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  You  can  teach  me,  Sibyl.  We  shall  have  the  long 
evenings,  and  I  shall  learn  faster  of  you  than  of  any  one 
else.  I  believe  in  laying  out  my  money  to  the  most  profit," 
he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Listen,  Fred,  I  will  not  go  without  you.  Fred,  if  we 
can  both  go,  so  much  the  better ;  that  would  be  delightful. 
But  if  but  one,  that  one  must  be  you." 

"  Fred !  Fred  Monroe  !  "  cried  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Mon 
roe,  "  there's  all  them  dry  beans  in  the  house  to  be  shelled. 
Sibyl,  if  you  calculate  to  go  barberrying  with  Mandy  Cul 
ver  to-morrow,  you  may  as  well  finish  making  that  sheet. 
You  won't  go  unless  it's  done,  I  can  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Monroe  was  a  sort  of  modern  Sisyphus.  She 
always  had  some  stone  for  Sibyl  and  Fred  to  roll.  But  the 
beans  were  shelled,  the  sheet  finished,  and  Sibyl  spent  a 
right  pleasant  afternoon  on  the  hills  and  in  the  woods  with 
Amanda  Culver,  and  came  home  laden  with  the  beautiful 
scarlet  racemes  of  that  most  graceful  of  our  common  shrubs. 

The  wild,  reckless  Amanda  had  conceived  a  warm  friend 
ship  for  the  "city  girl,"  as  her  companions  called  her, 
defending  her  upon  all  occasions  with  more  zeal  than  pru 
dence  ;  and  Sibyl's  influence  over  her  was  soon  visible  in 
her  attempts  to  arrange  her  hair  and  dress  with  some 
degree  of  neatness  and  taste,  and  in  lending  a  helpful  hand 
towards  taking  care  of  her  little  brothers  and  sisters,  who 
certainly  were  much  benefited  externally  by  her  care. 
Hitherto  she  had  been  lawless  ;  sometimes  working  in  the 


SIBYL     AND     MANDY.  153 

field  with  her  father,  and  completely  setting  at  nought  the 
control  of  her  indolent,  weak-minded  mother,  not  from  any 
lack  of  aifection,  —  for  she  was  warm  hearted,  —  but  because 
the  untidy,  ill-arranged,  slack  habits  of  the  household  made 
the  within-door  life  unpleasant  to  her,  and  she  did  not  care 
nor  think  it  was  any  way  dependent  on  her  until  she  be 
came  acquainted  with  Sibyl. 

Her  father  saw  the  change  in  her  with  great  pleasure, 
and  even  her  mother  began  to  brighten  up,  and  to  think 
that  her  children  might  become  something  more  to  her  yet 
than  a  "  pack  of  plagues." 

The  old  Monroe  farm  was  famous  through  all  the  county 
for  its  walnuts  and  chestnuts  ;  and  Fred  and  Sibyl  spent  often 
whole  days  in  the  fields,  walking  through  the  woods  beneath 
a  gorgeous  canopy  of  leaves,  gathering  up  baskets  full  of 
their  treasures,  or  seating  themselves  at  the  foot  of  some 
decaying  old  tree,  whose  protuberant  roots  formed  grotesque 
seats,  removed  from  the  nuts  the  outer  husks,  talking  of 
all  the  strange  thoughts  and  fancies  which  haunt  the  heart 
of  childhood  and  dreaming  youth. 

O,  those  autumn  days  amid  the  woods  and  by  the  streams  ! 
How  beautiful  is  their  memory !  How  quiet  they  are ! 
How  unlike  this  turbulent  life,  that  presses  upon  135  now, 
with  its  unrest  and  incompleteness !  O,  to  lie  once  more 
on  the  thick  mosses,  and  looking  up  through  the  gorgeous 
canopy  of  leaves  to  the  deep-blue  heavens,  with  the  old 
childish  faith,  see  again  the  angels  of  heaven  ascending  and 
descending  on  the  white-cloud  ladder  of  love ! 


154  SIBYL. 

But  all  days  were  not  thus  bright.  There  were  many 
mornings,  especially  after  the  autumn  storms  set  in,  that 
were  wet  and  cold.  Then  they  must  walk  fast  to  keep 
warm ;  and  there  were  frosty  mornings,  when  the  crisp 
grass  crumped  like  snow  beneath  their  feet,  and  high  windy 
days,  when  the  nuts  rattled  down  upon  their  heads,  and  the 
leaves  whirled  in  their  faces,  until  they  were  glad  to  get  in 
the  lee  of  some  friendly  tree  or  stone  wall,  and  take  breath. 
But  they  did  not  mind  it.  The  pile  of  walnuts  in  the  old 
garret  widened  and  deepened,  and  before  them  rose  a  vision 
of  Eltham  Academy,  and  its  pleasant  atmosphere  seemed  to 
warm  them,  even  at  that  distance. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

FEED'S  going  to  school  that  winter  had  been  a  kind  of 
understood  thing  between  him  and  his  father  during  the 
past  summer ;  but  now  the  boy  set  all  his  ingenuity  to  work 
to  obtain  Mrs.  Monroe's  consent  that  Sibyl  should  accom 
pany  him.  Many  and  many  a  plan  they  canvassed,  and 
more  than  once  Fred  started  up,  with  the  avowed  intention 
of  asking  her  at  once,  and  if  she  refused,  "giving  her  a 
piece  of  his  mind,"  as  he  said ;  but  Sibyl's  gentler  counsels 
prevailed. 

Above  all  things,  she  dreaded  such  jars  and  contentions 
as  she  had  sometimes  witnessed  since  she  came  there ;  and 
she  put  Fred  off,  saying  she  would  watch  her  opportunity, 
and  make  the  request  herself. 

But  day  after  day  slipped  by,  and  the  request  still  re 
mained  unspoken,  until  finally  a  development  was  made  by 
the  captain,  that  so  irritated  her  aunt,  and  soured  the  at 
mosphere  of  the  whole  house,  that  Sibyl  about  gave  up  her 
scheme. 

It  came  by  way  of  a  letter  from  her  uncle,  whom  they 
had  been  expecting  home  for  some  days,  and  informed  them 
that  he  had  been  ill,  — "  laid  up  with  the  inflammatory 

(155) 


156  SIBYL. 

rheumatism  for  nearly  two  weeks,"  and  that  he  should  not 
come  home  at  all,  but  drive  his  cattle  directly  through  from 
Vermont  to  New  York. 

"Umph!  I  wonder  if  he  thought  it  worth  while  to  pay 
postage  for  such  news  as  that.  I  guess  we  shall  live  some 
how  if  he  don't  come  !  "  was  the  wife's  comment  as  she  flung 
aside  the  letter.  "  The  rheumatism  never  killed  any  body 
yet,  as  I  know  on  ! " 

Fred  took  up  the  letter,  and  ran  it  over. 

"  What's  this  ? "  he  said,  turning  the  sheet ;  "  here's 
something  about  Miner  Bronson." 

"  Miner  Bronson  !     What  is  it  ?     Read  on." 

Fred  obeyed. 

"  I  hear,  by  the  way  of  Jim  Nichols,  who  is  up  here,  that 
Miner  Bronson  has  put  that  note  of  mine  into  a  lawyer's 
hands.  I  suppose  he's  mad  because  I  didn't  pay  the  inter 
est  when  he  spoke  about  it.  Just  as  if  I  couldn't  pay  a 
dozen  like  it  if  I  chose  !  But  it's  just  one  of  his  mean 
tricks.  If  I  had  him  here  —  but  never  mind  ;  I  guess,  as 
the  case  is,  you'll  have  to  look  about  and  raise  a  hundred 
dollars  for  him.  Let  Hitchcock  have  the  corn,  if  Fred  has 
got  it  shelled  out,  and  sell  some  of  the  oats  —  they  are  as 
high  now  as  they  will  be.  That  ought  to  satisfy  him  for  the 
present.  When  I  get  home,  I'll  see  to  the  rest." 

From  the  torrent  of  indignant  words  which  Mrs.  Monroe 
poured  out,  it  was  very  evident  that  this  portion  of  the  letter 
touched  her  far  more  deeply  than  that  which  related  to  her 
husband's  illness.  A  history  of  all  the  misdeeds  and  short 
comings  of  the  Monroe  family  was  given  in  a  breath. 


THE     BORROWED     MONEY.  157 

"  I  should  like  to  know  when  he  had  it,  and  what  he  did 
with  it !  Borrow  money  unbeknown  to  me  !  Paid  tavern 
bills  with  it,.  I  s'pose.  Sell  the  corn  !  The  whole*  concern 
wouldn't  pay  his  debts.  And  here  I  am  slaving  myself  to 
death  to  die  on  the  town  at  last.  It'll  be  the  last  he'll  bor 
row  or  I'll  pay,  I  can  tell  him  that." 

There  was  little  danger  of  Mrs.  Polly's  dying  on  the 
town,  if  report  spoke  the  truth.  She  had  not  been  quite  so 
confiding  as  to  leave  her  future  provision  to  her  husband's 
affection.  He  was  absent  a  great  deal,  extremely  careless 
of  money  matters  —  "  shiftless,"  she  said  —  certainly  indo 
lent,  and  it  had  been  no  difficult  matter  for  her  to  usurp  the 
whole  management  of  the  farm.  The  receipts  of  course 
passed  through  her  hands,  and  while  the  captain  cursed 
farming  as  the  least  remunerative  of  all  employments,  and 
Fred  worked  beyond  his  strength,  wondering,  all  the  while, 
why  they  could  not  get  along  like  other  people,  her  brother 
was  constantly  making  deposits  in  the  Hartford  Savings 
Bank,  in  the  name  of  his  sister. 

But  she  had  never  dreamed  that  her  husband  would  dare 
to  borrow  money  without  her  knowledge.  This  was  a  new 
revelation,  which,  added  to  the  necessity  of  raising  the  sum 
of  money  which  Monroe  had  specified  at  once,  to  prevent  a 
lawsuit,  made  her  temper  almost  unendurable. 

The  corn  was  sold  —  sent  away  when  Fred  was  absent, 
and  the  walnuts  went  with  it ;  but  there  was  nothing  said 
about  the  product  being  given  to  him ;  and  when  he  men 
tioned  it,  and  his  father's  promise  about  the  corn,  he  was 


158  SIBYL. 

met  with  sneers  at  his  father's  improvidence,  which  goaded 
him  almost  to  madness,  while  the  prospect  of  going  to 
school  lessened  daily. 

He  would  have  consulted  Master  Fenn,  but,  for  the  first 
time  for  many  years,  the  old  man  was  absent  from  home 
—  gone  to  New  York,  it  was  said ;  and  had  the  great  rock 
face  descended  from  the  cliff,  and  suddenly  walked  off,  it 
could  hardly  have  excited  more  surprise  and  conjecture 
among  the  neighbors  than  this  step  of  Master  Fenn. 

"  Gone  on  business,"  Miss  Silence  replied  to  the  curious 
querists.  "  Gone  on  an  old  friend's  business,"  she  added, 
to  Parson  Melvin,  when  he  drew  up  at  the  gate ;  "  gone  to 
see  Jim  Hungerford,"  she  had  told  Fred.  "  You  don't  re 
member  any  thing  about  Jim,"  she  continued,  "  for  he  hasn't 
been  here  these  twenty  years ;  but  he  was  born  a  short  dis 
tance  from  here,  and  brother  Dick  and  he  were  always 
together  as  boys.  Jim  went  to  York,  and  they  say  he  got 
to  be  very  rich ;  but  he  never  seemed  to  be  when  he  came 
down  here,  which  he  used  to  do  once  a  year  or  so,  as  long 
as  your  grandmother  lived.  She  was  a  kind  of  half  niece 
of  his  by  marriage,  though  some  years  the  eldest,  and  he 
thought  every  thing  of  her.  He  was  always  an  odd  body, 
and  since  she  died  he  has  not  been  down  here,  though  Dick 
and  he  have  written  back  and  forth  occasionally.  He  wrote 
the  other  day  that  he  was  poorly,  and  wanted  Dick  to  come 
to  York,  and  he  started  right  off,  without  even  waiting  for 
Mary  Wilson  to  finish  his  new  coat." 

But  their  point  was   gained  quite  unexpectedly,  through 


AUNT    POLLY'S    VISITORS.  159 

the  influence  of  a  no  more  important  personage  than 
Amanda  Culver.  This  girl  had  lived  with  Mrs.  Monroe 
at  different  times,  when  some  unusual  press  of  work  had 
made  her  assistance  necessary ;  and  being  in  possession  of 
all  her  weak  points,  she  knew  how  to  manage  her  much 
better  than  Master  Fenn. 

It  so  happened  that  the  week  before  the  school  was  to 
commence  its  winter  term,  the  Hunters,  who  lived  about  a 
mile  beyond  the  pond,  came  over  to  spend  the  evening  at 
Mrs.  Monroe's.  Mr.  Hunter  had  some  business  about 
fences  to  talk  over,  —  for  their  farms  joined,  —  and  he  had 
brought  his  wife  and  daughters  with  him.  Amanda  Culver 
was  with  them,  in  high  spirits,  as  usual. 

Mrs.  Monroe  belonged  to  that  class  of  people  who,  spite 
of  their  penuriousness,  are  ambitious  of  having  it  said  that 
they  "  know  how  to  treat  company." 

She  seldom  invited  people  there ;  but  when  she  did, 
Sibyl  had  been  surprised  at  the  amount  of  preparation  in 
the  way  of  cooking,  and  the  profusion  of  the  table. 

The  Hunters  happened  to  stand  high  in  her  aunt's  esti 
mation  ;  and  this  evening  her  best  cake  was  brought  forth, 
and  Sibyl  ordered  to  the  cellar  for  a  very  rare  kind  of 
apples.  Amanda  offered  to  go  with  her,  and  while  Sibyl 
filled  her  basket,  rattled  away  about  Cynthia  Jones's  Thanks 
giving  party,  which  she  had  attended,  and  various  other 
things,  until  she  suddenly  stopped,  and,  looking  at  her  com 
panion  a  moment,  said,  — 

"What's  the  matter,  Sibyl?  I  don't  believe  you've 
heard  a  single  word  I've  said." 


160  SIBYL. 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  "Well,  you  don't  look  as  if  you  cared  a  cent  whether  I 
had  a  good  time  or  not.  What  makes  you  look  so 
solemn  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  about  Fred's  going  to  school,  and " 

"  Going,  is  he  !  Good  ! "  interrupted  the  girl,  tossing  the 
apple  she  held  in  her  hand  up  to  the  flooring  above.  "  I 
kinder  like  Fred,  for  all  we  are  always  in  a  jaw  about 
something,  and  feel  mad  every  time  I  think  of  his  stay 
ing  here  and  slaving  himself  to  death  for  nothing.  He 
wouldn't,  if  he  had  a  bit  of  spunk.  I'd  have  run  away 
before  this  time,  and  I  guess  he'd  have  gone  before  now  il 
you  hadn't  been  here." 

"  He  will  go  in  the  spring  to  Springfield,  and  he  was  to 
have  gone  to  school  this  winter ;  but  if  aunt  won't  consent 
to  give  up  his  money  or  mine,  he  can't  go." 

"  Consent !  What  a  humble,  chicken-hearted  thing  you 
are !  Why,  walk  right  up  to  her,  and  tell  her  you'll  have 
what's  your  own.  Or,  leave  it  to  me  ;  I'll  manage  her.  I'll 
put  a  spoke  in  your  wheel,  that  will  turn  it  clear  round  this 
very  night.  See  if  I  don't !  " 

She  did.  Even  as  they  entered  the  room,  Mr.  Hunter 
was  saying  to  Fred, — 

"  So  you  are  going  away  in  the  spring,  Fred  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  that's  the  way  with  all  the  boys  nowadays.  They 
are  all  getting  above  farming.  I  was  in  hopes  you  would 
be  wiser." 


M ANDY'S   STRATAGEM.  1G1 

"Young  folks  are  apt  to  think  any  place  better  than 
home,  until  they  have  tried  it,"  was  the  trite  remark  of  the 
meek  Mrs.  Hunter.  "  You  will  miss  him  very  much,  Mrs. 
Monroe.  I  did  my  William." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  glad  to  have  him  go,  Miss 
Monroe,"  said  Mandy,  who  had  edged  round  from  the 
corner  of  the  hearth,  where  Fred  and  the  Hunter  girls  were 
cracking  nuts,  to  where  the  elder  dames  sat  with  their  work ; 
"  for  then  people  will  stop  talking  about  it.  There's  Polly 
Butler  —  what  a  creature  she  is  to  talk  !  I  shouldn't  think 
you  would  bear  it  of  her,  Miss  Monroe." 

"  Poll  Butler  !  Her  words  won't  make  nor  break 
nothin',  I  guess.  But  what's  the  creature  been  sayin' 


now 


"  0,  the  old  story  :  how  you  make  a  slave  of  Fred ;  that 
you  wouldn't  hear  of  his  goin'  to  a  trade,  only  you've  broke 
him  down  on  the  farm,  and  you  think  he'll  have  consumption, 
as  his  mother  did  before  him.  She  says,  too,  that  he  hasn't 
been  to  school  so  much  as  two  months  out  of  the  year,  on  an 
average,  since  his  mother  died ;  and  when  I  told  her,"  pur 
sued  the  girl,  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  gravity  upon 
her  rosy  face,  "that  it  couldn't  be  your  fault,  —  for  you 
always  say  that  Fred  does  just  exactly  as  he  chooses,  — 
that  you  never  interfere  with  nobody,  she  laughed  heartily, 
and  said,  every  body  knew  how  much  that  amounted  to. 
She  s'posed  negro  drivers  let  the  slaves  do  the  same,  and 
Mrs.  Pike,  and  Fanny  Green,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  folks  — 
for  wC  were  down  at  Fanny  Green's  quiltin'  —  laughed  too." 
11 


162  SIBYL. 

"  Let  'em  laugh.  Every  body  knows  what  a  mischief- 
maker  Poll  Butler  is.  She  don't  like  it,  I  s'pose,  because 
I  didn't  hire  her  to  sew  here  this  fall." 

Amanda  knew,  by  the  sweep  of  the  neck  and  the  con 
traction  of  the  lips,  that  her  shaft  had  not  missed  its  aim ; 
and,  delighted  at  her  success,  she  kept  on. 

"  I  guess  she  is ;  for  I  couldn't  think  what  made  her 
say  so  much  about  your  making  Sibyl  sew  so  steady.  She 
told  'em  that  you  had  made  her  work  on  that  awful  coarse 
dress  cloth  until  her  fingers  were  blistered,  and  the  joints 
swollen  until  they  were  as  large  as  two  joints ;  but  I  knew 
it  wasn't  quite  so  bad  as  that,  for  I  saw  Sibyl's  hands 
myself,  you  know ;  and  so  I  told  'em.  They  were  bad 
enough,  though." 

Mandy  staid  to  catch  but  one  gleam  from  those  fiery 
eyes.  Not  that  she  feared  them ;  but  she  knew  she  had 
said  enough,  and  Mary  Hunter  called  her  to  take  part  in 
naming  apples.  So  she  turned  away,  leaving  Mrs.  Monroe 
choking  with  rage,  while  Mrs.  Hunter  went  through  with  a 
prolix  receipt  for  making  doughnuts. 

"  Sibyl,"  said  Mrs.  Monroe,  as  soon  as  the  company  left, 
"  the  less  you  have  to  do  with  Mandy  Culver  the  better.  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  and  she  were  sayin'  in  the 
corner  yonder  about  me.  I  know  it  was  about  me,"  she 
went  on.  "  So  you  needn't  deny  it,  nor  make  strange  of  it. 
What  was  it  ?  " 

"  We  were  talking  about  going  to  school." 

"  What  else  ?     There  was  something  said  about  money." 


A   PIECE   OF   FRED'S   MIND.  163 

"  I  was  saying  that  if  you  would  give  me  what  papa  sent 
me,  I  would  let  Fred  have  it,  as  he  ought  to  go  this  winter; 
and  I  suppose  our  walnuts  and  his  corn  went  to  make  up 
the  sum  for  that  man." 

"  "Walnuts  and  corn  !  Who  told  you  to  count  up  the  prod 
uce  of  my  farm  ?  You  are  good  in  figures,  it  seems.  As 
to  your  money,  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean." 

"  The  ten  dollars  papa  sent  me  ;  you  took  it,  aunt." 

"  Certainly  I  did ;  and  what's  more,  I  mean  to  keep  it. 
What  more  have  you  got  to  offer  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  said  Sibyl,  choking  back  the  indignant  an 
swer  that  rose  to  her  lips,  "  but  this  —  if  you  will  use  it  for 
Fred,  you  are  very  welcome  to  keep  it." 

"  And  like  the  rest  of  the  Monroes,  he's  ready  to  take  it 
—  ready  to  beg  or  borrow ;  any  thing  but  work." 

Fred  had  hitherto  sat  in  silence,  carving  a  walnut  into  a 
grotesque  semblance  of  the  human  face.  At  this  taunt  he 
rose,  and  Sibyl  could  see  his  face  flush  to  a  deeper  hue  than 
the  bright  fire  glowing  upon  the  hearth ;  but  when  he  had 
crossed  the  room,  and  stood  before  her  who  bore  the  name 
of  mother,  it  was  white  as  the  snow  which  glittered  -without. 

"  Mother ! "  he  said  firmly,  and  the  title  as  well  as  the 
tone  startled  her ;  "  mother,  that  isn't  true.  I  am  neither 
a  borrower  nor  a  beggar ;  neither  was  my  father  until " 

"  Until  when,  sir  ?     Pray  go  on  ;  I  like  preachin' ! " 

"  Until  he  learned  to  think  Tim  Rainsforth's  store,  or 
Hitchcock's,  or  even  any  place,  pleasanter  than  home  ;  until 
he  became  what  he  is  now,"  he  added  with  a  quivering  lip. 


164  SIBYL. 

"  Umpli !  and  it's  all  laid  to  me,  I  s'pose.  But  I'm  used 
to  it.  Go  on." 

"  I  have  done  all  that  I  can  here.  I  have  worked  with 
all  my  strength,  and  beyond  my  strength,  because  I  hated 
to  see  every  thing  going  to  ruin,  and  because  I  sometimes 
hoped  for  better  times ;  but  I  have  done.  I  am  sick,  and 
tired,  and  discouraged !  Hear  me  out !  "  he  added,  seeing 
her  about  to  speak.  "  I  mean  to  go  to  school  this  winter. 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  give  me  money  for  my  expenses,  for  I 
think  I  have  a  right  to  it.  I  have  earned  it ;  but  if  you 
refuse,  I  must  avail  myself  of  Sibyl's  offer,  and  borrow. 
You  will  not  be  so  mean  as  to  keep  her  money." 

She  stood  for  a  few  seconds  before  him  in  silence,  as 
much  from  astonishment  as  rage ;  and  the  former  feeling 
was  fully  shared  by  Sibyl;  for  Fred's  face,  even  the  very 
tone  of  his  voice,  seemed  suddenly  changed  ;  it  was  as  if  he 
had  at  once  become  a  man. 

It  had  its  effect,  too  ;  for  though  the  woman  bit  her  thin 
lips  until  they  were  white,  Avhile  her  hands,  as  she  strove  to 
pull  down  the  sleeves  of  her  dress,  shook  tremulously,  she 
was,  somehow,  impelled  to  repress  her  rage. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  common  sense  has  got  into  the 
boy  ?  It's  gettin'  to  be  high  times  with  your  '  musts,'  and 
'  shart'ts,'  and  '  shalls.'  Who  said  you  wasn't  goin'  to  school, 
I'd  like  to  know  ?  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  have  you  go  ! 
Not  that  I  care  a  snap  for  that  Poll  Butler,  or  the  Greens, 
or  old  Dick  Fenn,  either.  He's  oilers  been  tryin'  to  set 
you  agin  me,  and " 


THE    RESULT.  165 

"It  is  not  so;  he  never  says  a  word  — "  Fred  began 
earnestly ;  but  she  interrupted  him,  her  eyes  flashing  fire. 

"  Don't  tell  me  !  I  know  him,  and  Silence  too  !  They 
are  a  mean,  mischief-makin'  set.  I'll  not  be  contradicted 
in  my  own  house,  I  can  tell  you." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

WE  must  pass  over  four  years,  during  which  the  shadows 
gathering  over  the  old  Monroe  farm  house  deepened  day  by 
day.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  premises  without  bears  wit 
ness  to  the  absence  of  Fred  ;  and  the  prospect  within  doors 
is  yet  more  gloomy ;  for,  in  that  time,  George  Monroe  has 
made  rapid  progress  in  the  downward  path  towards  a  drunk 
ard's  grave.  He  has  grown  moody  and  irritable ;  and  as 
his  habits  unfit  him  for  business,  he  is  more  and  more  tena 
cious  of  having  his  own  way,  and  his  "  queer  bargains  "  are 
the  town  talk. 

Outwardly,  Mrs.  Monroe  is  the  same ;  the  knowledge 
that  the  property  for  which  she  has  plotted  and  managed  so 
long  is  daily  slipping  through  her  hands,  does  not  tend  to 
soften  the  hard-set  lines  about  her  face,  nor  sweeten  the 
acidity  of  her  temper  ;  it  only  renders  her  still  more  greedy 
of  gain,  still  harder  upon  herself  and  all  around  her.  Poor 
blinded  soul! 

Sibyl  is  her  chief  dependence  now ;  it  is  easy  to  see  that, 
though  she  never  acknowledges  it  in  words ;  she  never  hires 
now,  not  even  on  those  days  of  extra  work,  house  cleaning, 
butchering,  and  the  like  ;  for  Sibyl  is  much  quicker,  neater, 
and  more  skilful,  than  any  one  she  could  obtain. 

(166) 


FOUR    YEARS     LATER.  167 

And  what  of  Sibyl  ?  Does  she  shrink  from  the  burden 
which  she  once  thought  it  such  a  privilege  to  bear  ?  Does 
she  fail  to  see  the  glory  or  hear  the  voice  which  blessed  the 
heart  of  the  poor  mountaineer  ? 

Sometimes  she  does  ;  often,  since  she  knows  that  her 
brother  has  long  .since  joined  her  parents,  because,  as  her 
mother  said,  she  "  could  not  exist  longer  without  him  ; "  and 
they  say  not  a  word  of  her  coming.  Indeed,  they  do  not 
often  write  to  her  at  all ;  and  it  is  so  hard  to  feel  that  one 
is  forgotten  —  unnecessary  to  any  one  that  we  have  ever 
loved  ! 

Remittances  have  long  since  ceased,  having  been  changed 
into  liberal  promises  to  pay  her  uncle  any  expenses  she  may 
incur ;  and  in  the  present  state  of  affairs  there,  she  feels 
her  dependence  even  more  keenly  than  at  first.  Fred  sel 
dom  comes  home,  but  his  letters  are  frequent,  and  never 
fail  to  brighten  up  the  solitary  old  house. 

He  has  suffered  much  from  illness  since  he  left  home,  but 
is  always  "better"  when  he  writes  ;  indeed,  would  be  quite 
well  were  it  not  for  some  "  slight  cold ; "  and  Sibyl  almost 
forgets  his  hollow  cough  in  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
speaks  of  the  future.  He  has  perfected  his  invention  until 
it  meets  the  approbation  of  the  best  judges,  and  his  friends 
only  await  his  majority  to  obtain  a  patent. 

"  Then  hurrah  for  France,  Sibyl !  You  and  I  will  go 
over  there  together,  yet,  and  look  up  uncle,  and  aunt,  and 
Willie.  You  musn't  forget  your  French,  for  you'll  have  to 
be  spokesman.  I  am  confident  I  never  could  parlez-vous 
in  the  world. 


168  SIBYL. 

"  Stranger  things  than  this  happen  every  day.  Indeed, 
it  seems  much  stranger  to  me  when  I  think  how  Mr.  Lef- 
fingwell,  and  Mr.  Colton,  and  Mr.  "Wentworth,  whom  I 
always  thought  so  proud  and  haughty,  talk  to  me  just  as  if 
I  knew  as  much  as  they,  and  ask  my  opinion  upon  this 
thing  or  that.  I  guess  they  wouldn't  if  they  knew  me  as 
well  as  you  do,  Sibyl.  I  want  to  laugh  sometimes,  but 
somehow  the  laugh  oftener  turns  into  tears  when  I  think 
what  a  hopeless,  ignorant  boy  I  was  when  you  came  to  us, 
and  how  you  put  the  life  into  me.  Ah,  Sibyl,  what  should 
I  have  been  without  you  !  " 

With  all  her  avarice,  Mrs.  Monroe  had  a  great  desire 
to  be  "  respectable,"  as  she  called  it,  and  Amanda  Culver 
perfectly  understood  this  when  she  related  "  they  says  "  of 
the  village.  Angry  as  they  made  her,  she  had  not  the 
courage  to  despise  them,  while  she  was  determined  not  to 
allow  both  the  children  to  attend  the  academy.  So  she 
made  a  compromise,  and  permitted  Sibyl  to  spend  certain 
days  of  the  week  under  the  tuition  of  old  Master  Fenn. 
The  old  man  had  readily  consented  to  receive  her  as  a 
pupil.  He  even  rubbed  up  his  French  and  Latin  for  her 
sake ;  and  the  hours  they  spent  together  were  full  of  quiet 
happiness. 

Old  Master  Richard  was  a  thorough  teacher ;  but  he  was 
wise  enough  to  know  that  the  training  which  we  call  educa 
tion  should  be  a  means  to  that  self-development  which  each 
soul  must  live  out  for  itself.  Therefore  the  mere  techni 
cal  lessons  which  he  gave  her  were  the  least  valuable  part 
of  what  she  learned  from  him. 


THE     WENTTVORTHS.  169 

Indeed,  they  were  all  teachers  to  her  there  —  Miss 
Silence,  with  her  strong,  practical  good  sense,  and  mother 
Mabel,  with  her  childlike  faith  and  clear  insight,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  quickened  by  the  physical  blindness 
which  darkened  her  eyes. 

Only  one  thing  seemed  to  trouble  these  good  women  — 
the  nature  of  brother  Dick's  business  with  Mr.  Hungerford. 
He  avoided  all  discussion,  or  even  allusion  to  it,  and  this 
was  "  so  unlike  him,"  Miss  Silence  said.  She  really  hoped 
Jim  Hungerford  "  hadn't  been  cuttin'  up  any  caper  that 
Dick  would  have  to  settle." 

Even  that  gentleman's  death,  which  occurred  early  in 
the  spring,  did  not  seem  to  put  an  end  to  their  anxiety ; 
for  Master  Richard  had,  after  that,  an  increased  amount  of 
correspondence,  and  once  or  twice  he  went  quite  suddenly 
to  New  York,  and  was  absent  some  days. 

As  on  one  of  these  occasions  he  went  in  company  with  his 
friend  Mr.  Wentworth,  of  Rockville,  they  began  to  think 
they  had  found  a  solution  to  the  mystery.  Jim  Hungerford 
had,  as  a  boy,  been  a  clerk  for  Ernest  Wentworth's  father. 
Perhaps  he  had  made  Mr.  Wentworth  his  heir.  They 
hoped  so,  at  least ;  for  then  the  Wentworths  would  be  able 
to  pay  off  his  father's  debts,  and  be  level  with  the  world 
again. 

Sibyl  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  this  Mr.  Wentworth. 
He  had  been  at  one  time  a  pupil  of  old  Master  Fenn,  and 
though  even  now  not  an  (infrequent  caller  at  the  little 
brown  house,  she  had  never  happened  to  see  him. 


170  SIBYL. 

The  Wentworths  had  been  for  generations  a  leading 
family  in  the  country  —  very  proud  and  wealthy.  Various 
circumstances  had  combined  to  lessen  the  family  wealth, 
but  nothing  could  diminish  their  pride.  The  father  of  the 
present  gentleman  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  engage  in 
manufactures,  and,  after  sinking  half  he  was  worth  in  vari 
ous  unsuccessful  experiments,  at  length  succeeded  in  placing 
his  business  on  a  permanent  and  profitable  footing. 

But  with  the  intense  conservatism  which  had  ever  marked 
his  family,  he  half  scorned  the  means  by  which  he  re 
paired  his  fortunes,  and  had  no  desire  to  see  his  son  take 
his  place.  The  boy  was,  therefore,  early  sent  away  to 
school,  prepai-atory  to  his  entering  college.  It  was  a  wise 
step ;  for  in  the  rough  and  tumble  of  school  life  he  soon 
learned  to  find  his  own  level,  accept  it,  and  to  correct  many 
of  the  false  estimates  peculiar  to  the  narrow  atmosphere  of 
his  father's  house,  particularly  that  which  led  him  to  scorn 
the  labor  whereby  he  gained  his  daily  bread. 

But  as  all  his  tastes  led  in  the  path  his  father's  ambition 
pointed  out,  he  pursued  it  with  great  honor,  until,  just  as  he 
had  graduated  and  entered  the  law  school,  he  met  and 
yielded  to  an  influence  which  colored  his  whole  after  life. 
Scarcely  out  of  his  boyhood,  lie  became  fascinated  by  a 
very  beautiful  and  somewhat  celebrated  woman,  some  ten 
years  his  senior  in  years,  and  twice  that  in  actual  knowledge 
of  life,  and  married  her  in  spite  of  all  remonstrances. 

The  disappointment  of  his  parents  —  their  anger  —  could 
only  be  measured  by  their  ambition  and  pride. 


THE     WENTWORTHS.  171 

They  "  were  reconciled  "  at  last,  as  the  world  phrases  it ; 
but  such  natures  as  old  Mr.  Wentworth's  seldom  forget,  if 
they  forgive ;  and  when  the  woman  whom  Ernest,  in  the 
first  flush  of  the  eager,  vehement  passions  of  youth,  had 
worshipped  as  the  realization  of  all  perfection,  proved 
false  in  heart,  if  not  in  deed,  the  old  man,  forgetting  his 
son's  anguish,  could  not  help  assuming,  in  all  his  intercourse 
with  him,  that  triumphant  "  I  told  you  so  "  air,  which  is  so 
much  worse  than  words. 

But  the  mother's  heart  was  truer.  Indeed,  hers  was 
naturally  a  much  stronger,  nobler  character  than  the 
father's,  though  few  people  knew  her  —  none,  perhaps,  save 
her  son  ;  for  in  all  her  long  life,  no  experience,  save  mater 
nity,  had  come  with  sufficient  power  to  break  through  the 
wall  of  deep  reserve  which  marked  her  nature. 

She  had  married  Mr.  Wentworth  because  her  friends 
thought  it  a  desirable  match,  and  she  "  must  marry  "  some 
body  ;  but  she  had  never  pretended  to  give  him  more  than 
the  respect  which  she  felt  due  to  the  head  of  the  family. 
It  was  all  he  asked,  or  was  capable  of  appreciating. 

To  one  of  her  self-possessed,  self-reliant  character,  her 
son's  passionate  idolatry  of  beauty  was  a  madness,  a 
disease.  She  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  all  remon 
strances  were  Averse  than  nothing ;  that  it  must  work  its 
own  cure,  at  whatever  expense ;  and  she  watched  it  in 
silence.  But  if  there  was  no  reproach,  no  hint  of  the  wife's 
follies,  or  the  son's  disappointment,  there  was  also  no 
sympathy. 


172  SIBYL. 

People  said  the  Wentworths  were  "  odd."  Even  mother 
Mabel  and  Miss  Silence  said  they  were  odd.  They  told  how 
the  beautiful  but  misguided  Mrs.  Wentworth  had  died  sud 
denly,  and  how  on  the  night  after  her  death,  when  the  young 
husband  stood  with  no  one  but  his  little  child  by  her  coffin, 
his  mother,  whose  foot  had  very  seldom  crossed  his  thresh 
old,  suddenly  entered  the  room,  and,  before  he  was  aware 
of  her  presence,  stood  by  his  side.  There  were  no  tears  in 
her  eyes  as  she  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  none  when 
she  lifted  the  little  motherless  girl  to  her  arms,  and  slightly 
touched  her  cheek  with  her  firm  lips ;  only  when  she 
looked  in  her  son's  eyes,  and  read  there  something  of  all  he 
had  suffered,  the  great  tears  came  silently,  and  placing  her 
hand  on  his,  she  said,  — 

"  Come  back  to  me,  Ernest ;  you  and  this  little  one." 

He  went ;  and  apparently,  as  old  Mr.  Wentworth  often 
observed,  there  was  nothing  but  the  presence  of  little  Win 
nie  to  remind  them  that  he  had  ever  been  away.  But  the 
mother  knew  better.  She  was  the  first  to  urge  her  son  to 
take  up  again  the  broken  threads  of  life,  and  her  own  eye 
grew  brighter  and  her  step  firmer  when  she  saw  him  reach 
ing  high  up  in  his  profession.  Alas !  she  did  not  know  of 
the  dreary  distrust  and  unbelief  that  were  eating  away  his 
heart.  He  did  not  show  her  that ;  for  he  knew  she  would 
never  be  able  to  comprehend  how  the  failure  of  any  thing 
earthly  could  effect  a  change  —  such  a  change. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  old  Mr.  Wentworth,  easily 
persuaded  by  the  success  of  a  person  with  whom  his 


ARTHUR    MONROE    AGAIN.  173 

business  frequently  brought  him  in  contact,  and  of  whose 
honesty,  sagacity,  and  prudence  he  had  the  highest  opinion, 
entered  largely  into  the  speculations  of  the  day. 

This  person  was  Arthur  Monroe.  His  failure  involved 
that  of  Mr.  Wentworth.  This  Avas  bad  enough  ;  but  it  was 
soon  found  that  Monroe,  trusting  to  the  old  man's  confidence, 
had  made  a  fraudulent  use  of  his  name  to  a  large  amount, 
and  it  was  this  crime  to  which  the  miserable  man  alluded 
in  his  letter  to  Sibyl. 

The  disappointment  —  the  indignation  —  of  the  old  man 
was  such  as  to  render  him  for  a  time  incapable  of  any  thing 
save  hating  Arthur  Monroe  with  the  insanity  of  hatred ; 
and  Ernest,  leaving  his  profession,  came  home  to  examine 
into  affairs.  The  bankruptcy  was  undeniable ;  they  would 
not  be  able  to  meet  one  half  of  their  obligations ;  and  the 
mother  and  son  felt  this  far  more  keenly  than  the  loss  of 
their  wealth.  Ernest  Wentworth  thought  that  he  could  not 
pursue  his  own  life  aright  until  these  debts  were  cancelled ; 
it  became  the  one  leading  thought  of  his  mind  ;  the  more  he 
examined,  the  more  clearly  he  saw  that  by  patience  and 
perseverance  it  might  be  done  ;  therefore  he  suddenly  an 
nounced  his  determination  to  give  up  his  profession,  and 
take  the  business  into  his  own  hands. 

It  was  very  difficult  for  him  to  come  to  the  truth  of  their 
affairs,  for  his  father  shrank  from  speaking  of  his  specula 
tions,  and  cither  became  irritable  and  moody,  or  else  met 
all  such  inquiries  by  a  volley  of  cur.e>  again>t  Monroe. 
Though  Ernest  could  not  help  feeling  an  inexpressible  con- 


174  SIBYL. 

tempt  for  Monroe,  he  was  not  blind  to  his  father's  character ; 
and  that  examination  gave  him  a  light  by  which  to  judge 
him.  lie  could  see  how  a  nature  not  naturally  bad,  if  lim 
ited,  had  been  narrowed  by  the  cold,  selfish  spirit  which  has 
gradually  come  to  govern  the  laws  of  trade,  until  our  mer 
chants,  instead  of  vindicating  their  birthright  as  the  repre 
sentatives  of  the  chivalry  of  the  middle  ages,  have  become 
hucksters,  hagglers,  and  repudiators.  He  saw  how  gain, 
pursued  as  the  chief  object,  eats  the  life  and  soul  out  of 
men,  and  leaves  them  little  else  but  empty  gilded  shells, 
echoing  with  low,  grumbling  complaints  about  the  vice,  and 
wickedness,  and  dishonesty  of  the  "  lower  classes  ;  "  giving 
largely,  perhaps,  to  charities,  and  then,  in  the  expressive 
language  of  Dr.  Chalmers,  wondering  why  "  universal  self 
ishness  does  not  do  the  work  of  universal  love." 

He  might,  in  all  probability  would,  founder  on  the  same 
rock ;  but  whatever  else  his  early  experience  had  taken 
from  him,  he  still  had  faith  in  the  power  of  an  earnest  will, 
and  he  would  try. 

The  old  gentleman  did  not  live  long  enough  to  witness 
even  the  beginning  of  his  son's  success ;  but  the  people  in 
his  employ,  from  the  head  clerk  in  the  counting  room  to  the 
most  ignorant  foreigner  on  the  premises,  felt  at  once  that 
there  was  a  new  hand  at  the  helm.  He  Avas  a  man  of  few 
words,  but  each  one  felt  compelled  to  do  his  work  thoroughly  ; 
that  the  keen  eye  of  a  master  was  upon  them ;  and  even 
the  delinquents  were  obliged  to  confess,  that  if  he  was  stern 
and  relentless,  he  was  also  just. 


THE     "WE  N  T  \V  O  RTH  S  .  175 

One  of  his  first  measures,  after  the  death  of  his  father, 
had  been  to  rent  the  large  family  mansion  to  a  gentleman 
from  New  York,  and  remove,  with  his  mother,  to  a  small 
cottage,  more  suitable  to  their  fortunes.  The  house  was  her 
own,  and  she  might  have  retained  it,  and  many  people 
thought  her  "  mean  and  stingy  "  for  removing  from  it,  for 
the  sake  of  a  few  hundreds  of  rent ;  but  they  did  not  know 
her.  The  debt  weighed  even  more  heavily  upon  her  than 
upon  her  son,  and  she  scorned  empty  pretence. 

The  cottage  was  comfortable  and  convenient ;  Ernest 
saw  that  his  mother,  little  Winnie,  and  their  attendants  had 
ample  room,  and  contented  himself  with  two  small  upper 
chambers,  which  served  for  bedroom  and  library.  These 
looked  down  upon  a  large  garden,  which  served  Winnie  for 
a  play  ground. 

Here  the  child  walked  very  demurely  while  within  sight 
of  her  grandmother's  window,  where  that  lady  usually  sat, 
her  handsome  but  stern  face  looking  out  from  the  white  bor 
ders  of  her  widow's  cap  like  some  face  in  an  old  picture. 
But  once  out  of  sight,  she  ran  about  and  rolled  upon  the 
grass,  like  any  other  child.  Mrs.  Wentworth  did  not  love 
children ;  she  made  no  pretence  of  so  doing ;  but  upon  this 
account  she  was,  perhaps,  more  rigid  in  performing  what 
she  deemed  her  duty,  wherever  they  were  concerned ;  and 
woo  to  the  servant  who  ventured  to  neglect  her  orders  with 
regard  to  Miss  Winnie. 

There  was  often  another  pair  of  eyes  watching  the  child 
from  the  window  above,  of  which  she  was  wholly  uncon- 


176  SIBYL. 

scious  —  a  face  full  of  anxious  thought,  quite  at  variance 
with  the  usual  self-possessed  look  with  which  it  met  the 
world  ;  for  Mr.  "VVentworth's  own  experience  taught  him  to 
tremble  for  his  child,  and  there  were  times  when  he  wished 
she  had  never  been  born. 

No  one  understood  so  well  the  character  of  Mr.  Went- 
worth  as  his  old  teacher,  Richard  Fenn. 

His  father  had  mourned  over  the  circumstances  that  com 
pelled  him  to  trust,  even  for  a  few  months,  the  education  of 
his  boy  to  a  country  schoolmaster,  when  he  should  have 
rather  thanked  God  for  bringing  him,  at  that  impressive 
age,  in  contact  with  a  noble,  honest  man. 

The  calm  gentleness  of  Master  Richard  acted  like  a 
charm  upon  the  wilful,  passionate  boy ;  and  in  all  the  dark 
years  that  beset  his  manhood,  when  he  hid  himself  from 
himself  and  others  in  that  mantle  of  cold  reserve,  he  had 
ever  a  kind  word  for  his  old  friend,  and  he  was  even  grate 
ful  for  the  quiet  sympathy  which  he  read  in  his  face.  For 
his  sake,  he  had  overlooked  the  fact  that  Fred  was  Arthur 
Monroe's  nephew,  and  warmly  interested  himself  in  his 
fortunes. 

All  this  Sibyl  learned  from  the  Fenns  —  all  save  the 
name  of  the  person  whose  failure  and  dishonesty  had  caused 
theirs  ;  that  they  withheld  :  and  she  little  thought  the  Mr. 
Wentworth,  whose  kindness  to  Fred  had  so  won  her  inter 
est  and  gratitude,  was  the  person  whom  her  father  acknowl 
edged  he  had  wronged. 

Therefore,  though  Miss  Silence  proved  over  and  over  to 


THE     LEGACY.  177 

her  that  she  and  Fred  were  the  "  next  of  kin  "  living  to  old 
Jim  Hungerford,  she  felt  rather  glad  than  otherwise  at  the 
thought  that  the  property,  as  they  suggested,  had  gone  to 
Ernest  Wentworth,  especially  after  she  learned  incidentally 
from  old  Master  Fenn  that  certain  changes  in  the  tariff 
were  likely  to  bear  heavily  upon  the  branch  of  manufac- 


12 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

AND  it  did  press  heavily  —  the  new  tariff  arrangement, 
which  the  assembled  wisdom  in  Congress  saw  fit  to  impose 
on  the  country.  With  all  his  energy,  forethought,  and 
perseverance,  Mr.  Wentworth  saw  himself  upon  the  eve  of 
a  second  bankruptcy,  even  before  he  had  half  cancelled  the 
liabilities  of  the  first ;  and  it  was  this  state  of  affairs  that 
led  him  so  often  to  seek  counsel  of  old  Master  Fenn. 

If  the  latter  could  not  give  him  "material  aid,"  he  could 
cool  the  irritability  of  his  overtasked  nerves,  and  help  him 
to  catch  again  glimpses  of  the  true  ends  of  business,  which, 
in  the  keen  contest  of  competition,  he  was  so  much  in  dan 
ger  of  forgetting. 

"  0,  if  the  blockheads  had  but  waited  one  year  before 
they  passed  this  law !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  walked  back 
and  forth  in  the  evening  twilight  with  Master  Richard,  be 
neath  the  great  buttonwoods  that  shaded  the  old  house  — 
"  one  year,  until  I  had  cleared  myself  of  this  miserable  load 
of  debt,  and  I  would  not  have  cared !  But  to  fail  now, 
with  the  end  in  full  view !  —  to  see  all  my  care,  and  labor, 
and  forethought  come  to  nought,  that  a  few  selfish  dema- 

(178) 


ERNEST     TTENTWORTH.  179 

gogues  may  ride  into  notoriety  !  But  it's  of  a  piece  with  all 
the  rest  of  my  life  ! "  he  added,  bitterly. 

The  old  man  looked  thoughtfully  in  his  dark,  scornful 
face,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  wish  it  might  have  been  otherwise,  Ernest ;  and  yet 
I  doubt  whether  the  wish  may  be  either  the  wisest  or  the 
most  friendly  one  for  you ;  for  all  human  experience  teaches 
that  the  ends  which  seem  to  us  of  such  vital  importance  are 
of  far  less  value  than  the  training  we  win  in  the  race.  Few 
men  live  to  my  age,  —  scarcely  one  who  exercises  thought 
enough  to  deserve  the  name, — -without  seeing  how  the  very 
ends  they  pursued  with  such  zeal,  would,  if  attained,  have 
proved  to  them  curses  instead  of  blessings,  and  devoutly 
thanking  God  for  the  failure  that  had  seemed  to  them  such 
a  sore  calamity.  Ernest,  your  own  observation  must  have 
taught  you  how  any  end,  however  unobjectionable  in  itself, 
if  pursued  to  the  exclusion  and  neglect  of  every  thing  else, 
is  liable  to  narrow  and  belittle  the  mind  and  heart,  until  it 
becomes  a  sort  of  tyranny  from  which  it  is  almost  impos 
sible  to  escape." 

Mr.  "Wentworth  colored  slightly,  as  he  said,  "  You  think 
I  am  in  danger,  so  read  me  this  lesson,  I  suppose.  It  may 
be  you  are  right.  All  life,  at  best,  seems  to  me  but  a 
bundle  of  contradictions.  It  is  of  this  very  ignorance  of 
what  is  best  for  us  that  I  complain.  We  strive,  dream, 
hope,  pray,  for  some  good  which  we  honestly  deem  nobler 
and  better,  —  more  desirable  than  aught  else  the  world  can 
offer,  —  and  attain  it  only  to  find  it  dust  and  ashes,  fo?- 


180  SIBYL. 

tunate  if  it  prove  not  a  sword  to  thrust  us  through  and 
through.  These  lofty  aspirations,  these  beautiful  ideals, 
which  we  find  in  the  mind,"  he  went  on,  his  lip  contracting  as 
if  from  pain,  "  what  are  they  but  illusions,  like  those  clouds 
yonder,  more  changeful  and  quite  as  evanescent !  All  men 
are  slaves  to  something.  It  is  idle  to  rebel ;  but  I  would 
fain  work  out  this  portion  of  my  task,  and  see  it  ended." 

Master  Richard  did  not  reply.  He  knew  how  idle  mere 
words  were  to  such  a  character  as  Wentworth's ;  but  in  the 
deep  faith  that  trusteth  all  things,  he  uttered  in  his  heart 
the  prayer  of  Philip,  — 

"  Lord,  show  him  the  Father." 

Mr.  Wentworth  noticed  the  sadness  of  the  old  man's 
face ;  he  paused  in  his  walk,  and  said,  with  an  air  and  tone 
of  aifectionate  reverence,  — 

"  Be  patient  with  me  if  you  can,  my  dear  Master  Fenn. 
I  may  be  wrong ;  I  may  have  failed  to  read  my  lesson 
aright.  I  know  you  think  so ;  but  I  have  read  it  at  least 
with  an  honest  intention,  and  if  I  err  time  may  work  a  cure. 
If  any  thing  on  earth  is  real,  it  is  your  patient  friendship. 
In  that  I  will  trust  still." 

"  In  nothing  else,  Ernest  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  seriously. 

"  No ;  unless  it  be  in  this,"  and  he  touched  the  earth 
lightly  with  his  riding  whip  ;  "  for  no  stroke  of  honest  labor 
on  this  surface  is  without  some  reward.  This  is  something 
tangible — real;  and  he  who  sows  here  reaps  not  thorns 
nor  thistles.  But  hark  !  "  and  with  his  arm  still  extended, 
as  if  to  hush  even  the  rustling  leaves  above  him,  he  stoo<.! 


SIBYL'S   MUSIC.  181 

listening  to  the  soft,  entreating  strains  of  Handel's  "  Comfort 
ye  my  people,"  as,  accompanied  by  the  soft,  full  voice  of 
Sibyl,  they  swelled  forth  from  the  organ  in  Master  Rich 
ard's  den ;  while  slowly  the  dark  look  passed  away  from 
his  face,  and  left  it  glowing  with  unexpected  pleasure.  Ah, 
he  believed  in  something  besides  himself  yet.  We  are 
none  of  us  such  atheists  as  we  pretend  to  be. 

Perhaps  Master  Fenn  thought  thus ;  for  he  stood  beside 
him  silently  until  aroused  by  his  abrupt  query,  — 

"  Whom  have  you  here  that  can  play  and  sing  like  that  ?  " 

"  A  young  friend  —  Miss  Monroe." 

"  Ah !  a  sister  of  that  boy,  your  protege.  Her  voice  is 
uncommonly  sweet,  and  her  execution  good.  Is  she  your 
pupil?" 

"  Not  in  music ;  of  that  she  knows  much  more  than  I  — 
but " 

Master  Richard  paused ;  for  as  they  turned  to  retrace 
their  steps,  Sibyl  unlatched  the  gate  and  approached  them 
on  her  way  home.  With  a  bow  and  a  smile  she  returned 
his  greeting,  and  passed  on.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
somewhat  undersized  figure  nor  in  the  pure,  pale  face,  that 
for  one  second  had  been  turned  towards  him,  to  excite  Mr. 
Wentworth's  attention,  and  he  sauntered  on.  But  his  old 
friend  paused  and  looked  thoughtfully  after  her  a  second ; 
then,  as  if  some  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  his  face 
brightened,  and  walking  forward  as  rapidly  as  his  lameness 
would  permit,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Mr.  Wentworth's  arm. 

"  Ernest,"  he  said,  "  make  no  hasty  movement  in  your 


182  SIBYL. 

affairs.  I  think  —  I  believe  I  know  a  way  in  which  I  can 
assist  you.  Promise  to  make  no  change  until  you  hear 
from  me." 

The  eagerness  of  the  old  man's  manner,  the  contrast  that 
involuntarily  rose  in  "Wentworth's  mind  between  the  means 
at  his  old  friend's  command  and  the  large  sum  immediately 
required  to  relieve  him  from  his  dilemma,  raised  a  smile 
upon  his  lip.  But  he  readily  assented  to  the  request,  only 
warning  him  that  the  delay  must  not  be  long,  and  asking 
if  he  expected  to  find  Aladdin's  lamp. 

"  No,"  returned  the  old  man,  smiling.  "  I  see  you  are 
not  only  curious,  but  incredulous  ;  but  the  mouse  saved  the 
lion,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I  must  trust  to  you  ;  I  have  no  other  resource. 
If  I  only  had  what  that  rascal  Monroe  honestly  owes,  — 
but  he  has  doubtless  long  since  ignored  the  meaning  of  the 
word  honest,  if  indeed  he  ever  knew  it." 

"  He  did  know  it.  His  boyhood's  promise  was  as  bright 
as  your  own,  Ernest.  He  must  have  been  sorely  tempted 
before  he  put  his  hand  to  such  deeds,"  said  the  old  man, 
sadly.  "  I  pity  him." 

"  And  I  scorn  him ;  a  weak,  cowardly  nature,  at  best," 
was  the  haughty  reply. 

For  two  or  three  days  succeeding  this  interview  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Wentworth,  brother  Dick  seemed;  as  Miss 
Silence  chose  to  express  it,  in  a  "  quandary."  He  went 
about  the  house  doing  things  strangely  at  variance  with  his 
usual  methodical  correctness ;  occasionally  sitting  down  at 


BROTHER    DICK'S     "QUANDARY."          183 

the  organ  and  mixing  up  strains  of  "  Rothermel "  or  "  Dun 
dee  "  with  snatches  from  old  "  Rosin  the  Bow,"  in  a  way 
that  seemed  to  her  quite  profane.  Mother  Fenn,  with  her 
quickened  senses,  noted  a  change,  and  began  to  fear  that 
"  that  boy  Dick  had  been  led  astray  in  his  recent  visits  to 
the  city  —  a  place  as  full  of  temptations  to  young  people 
as  Vanity  Fair  to  Christian  and  Hopeful ; "  but  at  this 
Miss  Silence  shook  her  head.  She  "  couldn't  believe  that 
of  Dick ; "  her  fears  took  a  different  direction,  especially 
when  she  noted  the  unusual  fervency  of  his  petitions  morn 
ing  and  evening,  that  he  "  might  not  be  led  to  do  evil  that 
good  might  come."  It  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  the 
danger  lay  nearer  home.  Brother  Dick  had  said  to  her 
more  than  once  within  the  last  year,  particularly  when  he 
was  down  with  the  rheumatism  in  his  lame  limb,  that  she 
"had  too  much  to  do."  Possibly  he  contemplated 
bringing  home  a  wife  to  share  her  labor.  Once  or  twice 
in  the  years  gone  by,  she  had  been  seriously  disturbed  by 
such  thoughts,  and  now  she  could  hardly  realize  how  such  a 
step  could  be  productive  of  any  good.  But  "  brother  Dick 
knew  best,"  and  with  this  conviction  she  tried  to  silence  her 
disturbed  thoughts. 

She  might  have  dispersed  them  much  more  effectually, 
though  not  without  a  doubt  of  her  brother's  sanity,  could 
she  have  listened  to  a  conversation  between  him  and  Mr. 
Wentworth,  in  that  gentleman's  office,  a  few  days  later. 

Indeed,  for  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Wentworth's  face  ex 
pressed  a  doubt  of  his  old  friend's  mental  condition,  when, 


184  SIBYL. 

after  talking  over  his  affairs,  and  gaining  a  thorough  under 
standing  of  the  complicated  embarrassments  that  were  clos 
ing  round  him  like  a  net,  he  drew  forth  his  pocket  book,  and 
laid  before  him  notes  and  bonds  to  the  amount  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars. 

"  Take  it,  but  don't  ask  any  questions,  Ernest,"  he  said,  in 
dulging  in  a  quiet  smile  at  the  gentleman's  stare  of  unfeigned 
astonishment.  "  I  have  not  robbed  the  bank,  nor  found  Alad 
din's  lamp.  A  few  words  will  explain  all  I  can  tell  you  with 
honor.  I  hold  this  property  in  trust  for  another.  By  the 
express  terms  of  the  will  of  the  donor,  the  heir  cannot  come 
into  possession  of  even  the  interest  under  the  age  of  twen 
ty-five.  For  the  eight  years  to  come,  I  alone  am  responsi 
ble  for  it ;  and  all  I  ask  of  you  in  the  mean  time  is  security 
against  loss." 

Mr.  Wentworth  glanced  at  the  bonds,  and  then  at  the  old 
man,  as  if  still  in  some  doubt  of  his  sanity,  before  he  re 
plied,  sadly, — 

"  I  cannot  give  it,  my  old  friend.  It  is  a  sore  temptation, 
for  with  such  a  sum  I  could  soon  make  my  way  clear. 
But  I  have  no  security,  such  as  I  could  offer  you,  and  I 
would  ask  no  man  to  indorse  me  for  that  amount,  even  if  I 
knew  one  who  would  be  willing." 

"  You  have  your  buildings  and  stock,  Ernest." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  buildings  are  still  holden  for  my  father's 
debts,  though  in  fact  worth  twice  as  much  as  the  mortgages- 
still  remaining  upon  them." 

"  Have  you  the  copies  of  the  papers  ?  Let  me  see  them." 


LOAN     AND     SECURITY.  185 

Mr.  Wentworth  took  from  the  safe  a  bundle  of  papers. 
The  old  man  glanced  them  over. 

"  Why,  Ei-nest,  these  are  not  the  papers ;  these  are  notes 
—  Arthur  Monroe's  notes." 

"  I  thought  that  trash  destroyed,"  he  said,  as  he  handed 
him  the  right  package.  "  Perhaps  you  will  accept  them ; 
they  are  nearly  the  amount,  you  see  —  twenty  thousand." 

He  spoke  jestingly.  Master  Fenn  made  no  immediate 
reply,  but  sat  examining  the  papers  for  some  moments,  then 
took  up  Monroe's  notes  and  looked  them  over,  before  he 
said,  gravely,  "  I  will  accept  a  mortgage  on  the  buildings, 
Ernest,  and  besides,  I  will  take  these  notes." 

"  But  they  are  wholly  worthless  —  worse  than  blank  pa 
per,  Master  Fenn." 

"  To  you  they  may  be ;  not  to  me.  Let  us  finish  this 
business." 

Master  Richard  had  ridden  over  to  Rockville  that  day 
with  his  neighbor  the  miller.  It  was  still  early  when  he 
came  up  from  the  mill  to  the  Hill  pasture  bars.  He  paused 
there,  and  stood  for  some  moments  as  if  revolving  some 
topic  in  his  mind,  then  turned  and  walked  down  towards 
Captain  Monroe's.  Out  in  the  meadow,  west  of  the  house, 
through  which  ran  the  clear  brook  of  which  we  have  spo 
ken,  he  found  Sibyl,  engaged  in  showering  with  a  large 
water  pot  the  long  pieces  of  homespun  linen  stretched  upon 
the  grass  in  the  process  of  bleaching. 

"  A  primitive  employment,  little  Sibyl,"  said  the  old  man, 
as  he  returned  her  glad  greeting,  and  seated  himself  in  the 


186  SIBYL. 

shade.  "  Many's  the  time  I  have  seen  your  grandmother 
and  Lydia  Blair  out  here  amid  their  linen.  But  those 
women  —  Lydia,  and  Hannah  Holbrook,  and  black  Dinah 
—  had  rather  more  strength  to  lift  that  heavy  watering  pot 
than  you,  child.  You  look  tired." 

"  I  am,"  was  the  reply,  as  she  took  off  her  sun  bonnet 
and  seated  herself  by  his  side.  "  I  remember,"  she  contin 
ued,  laughing,  "  of  once  riding  with  mamma  and  some  other 
ladies  past  just  such  an  old  farm  house,  where  were  several 
young  girls  bleaching  cloth.  "VVe  thought  it  very  pictu 
resque,  and  mamma  made  John  stop  the  horses  while  Miss 
Addie  Grey  and  I  made  sketches  of  them." 

"  You  think  now  it  was  more  picturesque  than  pleasant  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Yes,  the  heat  of  the  sun  gives  me  such  a  headache.  I 
often  wonder  what  mamma  would  say  if  she  was  to  see  me 
now.  Poor  mamma ! " 

"  You  regret  your  beautiful  home,  your  carriage  and 
horses,  very  much,  Sibyl  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  though  I  sometimes  think,"  she  added,  with  a 
glance  round  the  beautiful  landscape  until  they  rested  upon 
the  great  rock  profile,  "  that  I  would  quite  as  soon  live  here. 
It  is  so  very  beautiful  here ;  and  if  I  were  rich,  I  would 
buy  the  old  farm,  if  uncle  would  sell  it,  and  build  a 
new  house  here.  Fred  and  I  have  built  a  great  many," 
she  went  on  with  a  smile.  "  Then  I  would  bring  home 
papa,  and  mamma,  and  Willie.  I  would  have  a  library  for 
papa,  and  pictures  and  an  organ  for  you,  dear  Master  Fenn  ; 


MASTER     FENN     AND     SIBYL.  187 

and  you  should  come  over  every  day  and  play.  I  would 
bring  grandmother  Fenn  and  Miss  Silence  over  sometimes, 
and  Fred  should  have  his  workshop,  and  all  the  tools  he 
needed.  Wouldn't  that  be  nice,  Master  Fenn  ?  " 

The  old  man  sat  a  moment  regarding  her  thoughtfully, 
before  he  replied,  — 

"  Yes ;  thank  you  for  my  share,  dear.  But,  Sibyl,  sup 
pose  that  you  were  rich,  as  you  say,  my  child  ;  if  you  knew 
that  by  sacrificing  fortune,  and  living  a  life  of  self-depend 
ent  labor,  you  could  redeem  the  memory  of  one  you  dearly 
love  from  dishonor,  would  you  do  it  ?  Remember,  you 
would  be  under  no  obligation  to  do  so.  I  am  only  suppos 
ing  the  money  all  yours.  It  would  be  a  mere  matter  of 
choice." 

"  Indeed,  I  would,  sir !  "  she  exclaimed,  scarcely  waiting 
for  his  explanation,  "  even  if  I  had  to  live  with  aunt  Mon 
roe  always."  She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  hushing 
her  tones  as  if  she  feared  the  nodding  clover  blossoms  would 
hear  her,  she  added,  — 

"  Dear  Master  Richard,  there  is  something  I  want  to  say 
to  you.  I  am  afraid,  indeed,  I  know,  that  my  father  did 
some  one  a  great  wrong  before  he  went  away.  He  told  me 
he  did,  and  asked  me  to  forgive  him  in  the  letter  he  wrote 
just  before  he  sailed.  He  did  not  tell  what  the  wrong  was, 
or  who  was  the  person ;  but  it  troubles  me  to  think  of  it. 
I  wish  I  did  know  —  I  would  work  like  a  slave  to  cancel  it." 

"  I  know  you  would  —  I  know  you  would,  my  child.  I 
wonder  I  could  doubt  it ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man. 


188  SIBYL. 

"  Doubt  it !  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  this,  Master 
Fenn  ?  any  thing  about  papa's  affairs  ?  O,  if  you  do,  tell 
me ! "  she  cried  eagerly,  scanning  with,  her  clear  eyes  the 
old  man's  face.  "  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  can  hope  and  trust,  little  one,"  he  replied,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  laying  his  hand  on  her  head  as  he  arose 
to  go.  "  Do  this,  and  God  will  teach  you  what  to  do  when 
the  time  comes  —  in  this  as  well  as  every  thing  else." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"YOU'LL  have  been  expectin'  the  capting  about  these 
days,  and  mebby  here's  somethin'  that'll  tell  about  him," 
said  Mr.  Culver,  as  he  stopped  one  day  on  his  way  home 
from  the  village,  and  handed  Mrs.  Monroe  a  letter.  "  I 
reckon  he's  made  a  pretty  good  trip  on't  this  tune.  Cattle's 
risin'." 

"  He  ought  ter,  to  make  up  for  what  he's  lost  before," 
replied  the  wife,  as  she  adjusted  her  glasses  to  read  the  let 
ter,  while  Culver  lounged  into  a  chair,  being  determined  to 
hear  the  news. 

"  It  isn't  his  hand ;  but  the  postage  is  paid,"  she  said, 
with  a  glance  at  the  address. 

She  was  not  a  ready  reader,  and  the  hand  was  one  of 
those  business  scrawls  so  illegible  to  any  but  a  practised 
eye. 

"  I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  on't,"  she  said,  pettishly.  "  It 
isn't  Mr.  Monroe's  handwriting,  that's  sartin.  I  should 
think  the  name  was  James  Morton  ;  he's  the  man  he  oilers 
sells  to  down  there.  Here,  Sibyl,  see  if  you  can  make  it 
out." 

Sibyl  laid  down  her  work  and  took  the  letter.  The  first 

(189) 


190  SIBYL. 

sentence,  though  somewhat  awkwardly  worded,  was  an  ear 
nest  expression  of  sympathy,  and  intuitively  divining  what 
followed,  she  turned  pale  as  the  paper  in  her  hand. 

"  Why  don't  you  read  on  ?  There's  no  privacy,  I  s'pose. 
Another  dunnin'  letter,  I  guess.  No  mortal  knows  how 
much  trouble  his  shiftless  habits  make  me  ! " 

"  They  will  never  trouble  you  more,  aunt ;  uncle  Monroe 
is  dead ! " 

"  Dead !  you  don't  say  so  !  I  don't  believe  it.  Give  me 
the  letter." 

Culver  had  started  to  his  feet,  echoing  her  ejaculations, 
and  forgetful  of  all  save  his  interest  in  the  fate  of  the  man 
for  whom  he  had  so  long  labored,  stood  looking  over  her 
shoulder,  as  she  tried  to  decipher  the  words. 

She  saw  that  it  was  true,  and  handing  the  letter  back  to 
Sibyl,  bade  her  read  the  whole.  She  threw  herself  into  a 
chair,  and  gave  way  to  hysterical  sobs,  and  the  man  Culver 
wiped  the  great  tears  from  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his 
brown,  hard  hand,  as  Sibyl  obeyed. 

Mr.  Monroe  had  been  killed  almost  instantly  by  a  fall 
from  his  horse,  and  the  kind-hearted  man  who  wrote  the 
letter  had  already  taken  measures  to  forward  the  body  to 
Eltham.  As  she  ceased  reading,  Culver  crossed  the  room, 
and  placing  his  huge  finger  on  the  date  of  the  letter,  said, 
thoughtfully,  — 

"  That  was  writ  Tuesday  ;  to-day  is  Thursday :  they  will 
be  here  to-night  with  the  body.  Somebody  must  see  to  — 
to  —  all  these  things.  Shan't  I  do  it  ?  " 


THE     FUNERAL.  191 

The  man  hesitated  to  say  funeral ;  but  the  newly -made 
widow  understood  him,  and  with  her  usual  promptness 
said,  — 

"  You  are  right ;  we  have  no  time  to  lose  ;  "  and  wiping 
her  eyes,  she  proceeded  to  give  her  orders  with  a  composure 
which  quite  surprised  the  man ;  then,  turning  to  Sibyl,  she 
added,  — 

"  The  house  will  be  overrun  with  people,  your  uncle  was 
so  well  known.  We  must  go  to  puttin'  things  to  rights  at 
once.  The  front  rooms  and  the  kitchen  must  be  cleaned, 
and  the  chambers  thoroughly  swept." 

Sibyl  did  not  stir,  but  sat  with  her  head  bowed  upon  her 
hands,  thinking  of  her  uncle's  death ;  of  the  last  time  'she 
had  seen  him ;  of  Fred,  and  the  impossibility  of  getting  a 
letter  to  him  in  time  for  him  to  attend  the  funeral ;  and 
Mrs.  Monroe  had  to  repeat  her  Avords,  saying  in  a  kind  of 
explanatory  tone  to  Culver,  — 

"  Poor  folks  have  no  time  to  sit  down  and  cry,  even  if  it 
was  right  for  'em  to  do  so.  Folks  expect  to  see  things  de 
cent  at  such  times  ;  if  we  could  hire,  'twould  be  different." 

"  But  I  must  first  of  all  write  to  Fred,  aunt." 

"  I  don't  see  why  ;  he  can't  possibly  get  here  in  time  for 
the  funeral." 

"  Mebby  he  will,"  said  the  good-natured  Culver,  with  a 
glance  of  commiseration  at  Sibyl ;  "  I  guess  I'd  do  it ;  and 
I'll  send  Mandy  up  here  to  help.  She'd  do  any  thing  for 
—  Sibyl,"  he  was  about  to  add,  but  with  a  forethought  quite 
unusual,  he  changed  it  to  "  any  of  you." 


192  SIBYL. 

Mrs.  Monroe  declined  his  proffered  aid.  She  had  a  great 
horror  of  having  strange  people  "  peekin'  round  her  house  ; " 
so  the  chief  labor  fell  upon  Sibyl.  She  had  spoken  the 
truth  —  there  was  no  time  for  sorrow  in  that  house.  Not 
even  after  the  body  arrived,  and  was  laid  in  the  scrupu 
lously  arranged  parlor,  could  the  niece  spare  time  for  her 
tears,  for  then  her  aunt's  mourning  was  to  be  arranged,  and 
Mrs.  Monroe  had  long  since  learned  that  no  one  could  suit 
her  in  the  matter  of  dress  but  Sibyl. 

When  they  came  home  from  the  grave,  the  sight  of  the 
open  doors  and  windows,  the  strange  faces  and  strange 
voices  of  her  aunt's  relations,  made  it  all  seem  like  some 
fearful  dream.  It  was  only  when  Fred  arrived  that  night, 
weary  and  haggard,  and  she  felt  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
and  his  head  bowed  upon  her  shoulder,  as  he  murmured, 
"  O  my  father !  my  father !  "  that  she  fully  realized  the  sor 
rowful  change. 

Mrs.  Monroe  expressed  neither  surprise  nor  pleasure  at 
his  arrival ;  she  answered  his  greeting  by  raising  her  hand 
kerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  hastily  joining  her  brother  in  an 
other  room.  No  one  heeded  them  as  they  sat  there  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  as  aliens  in  the  house  where  their  fa 
thers  had  lived  for  generations. 

"  Sibyl,  dear  Sibyl,  can  you  tell  me  —  do  you  know  how 
he  died?" 

It  was  the  one  question  which  had  been  haunting  her, 
which  she  had  feared  to  put  into  words. 

"  No,  Fred ;  let  us  hope  the  best." 


AFTER     THE     FUNERAL.  193 

As  he  turned  his  anxious  face  towards  her,  she  noticed, 
for  the  first  time,  its  hollow,  haggard  look.  He  saw  her 
glance,  and  said,  with  an  effort  to  smile,  — 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Sibyl ;  I  have  neither  slept  nor 
eaten  since  I  received  your  note.  I  shall  be  better  to-mor 
row." 

At  the  breakfast  table,  the  next  morning,  they  met  Mr. 
Mason,  Mrs.  Monroe's  brother,  who  was  to  remain  with  her 
a  few  days.  No  one  seemed  disposed  to  talk,  and  the  meal 
passed  in  silence,  until  they  arose  from  the  table.  Then 
Fred  stated  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  return  the  next 
morning,  and  would  like  to  speak  with  his  mother  about  the 
future  arrangements  of  the  family. 

Sibyl  had  never  before  so  fully  realized  the  change  which 
the  past  two  or  three  years  had  wrought  in  the  boy ;  for 
boy  he  still  was,  as  one  could  see  by  the  quivering  of  his 
lip ;  but  this  passed,  and  his  calm  manner  impressed  even 
the  money-worshipping  Mr.  Mason,  and  kept  back  the  rude 
rejoinder  that  rose  to  his  lips. 

"  I  have  nothin'  to  arrange,"  said  the  widow ;  "  I  shall 
stay  here  until  next  spring.  The  law  allows  the  widow  her 
support  for  six  months." 

"  The  widow,  and  the  children  who  are  minors.  It  says 
nothing  about  hangers-on  and  the  like  !  "  added  Mr.  Mason, 
with  a  glance  at  Sibyl  from  his  weasel-like  eyes. 

Fred  stood  with  his  hand  upon  Sibyl's   shoulder,  and  he 
involuntarily  drew  her  closer  to  him,  as,  darting  a  look  of 
indignation  at  the  man,  he  snid,  — 
13 


194  SIBYL. 

"  I  spoke  to  Mrs.  Monroe,  sir.  I  don't  know  as  our  fam 
ily  affairs  are  any  thing  to  you  !  " 

"  I  rather  guess  you'll  find  they  be  afore  you  get  through, 
young  man.  I'm  to  be  administrator." 

At  any  other  time,  Fred  would  have  been  unable  to  sup 
press  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  pompous  air  with  which  the  in 
significant  man  made  this  announcement ;  as  it  was,  he 
turned  to  the  widow,  without  deigning  him  any  further 
notice,  and  asked,  — 

"  Did  my  father  leave  a  will  ?  " 

In  default  of  a  handkerchief,  Mrs.  Monroe  raised  her 
apron  to  her  eyes,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Thiukin'  of  property,  and  your  poor  father  not  cold  in 
his  grave,  Fred  Monroe !  But  it's  nothin'  more  than  I 
expected." 

Fred  colored  deeply ;  nothing,  probably,  but  the  contempt 
for  the  people  before  him,  kept  back  the  tears.  With  a 
glance  about  the  old  familiar  room,  he  said,  — 

"  I  tell  you  I  must  leave  this  place  early  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  and  I  want  to  know,  before  I  go,  what  right  I  have  to 
ever  come  back.  I  am  neither  mean  nor  selfish,  but  what 
is  justly  mine  I  intend  to  have  ;  and  what  is  more,  I  wholly 
object  to  this  man  as  administrator.  It  is  as  well  that  we 
understand  one  another  at  the  outset." 

"  You  can  object,  and  keep  on  objectin',  if  'twill  do  you 
any  good ;  but  in  the  eye  of  the  law  you  are  a  minor,  and 
hain't  got  nothin'  to  say  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Mason.  "  My 
sister  has  chose  me  to  help  Ivor  settle  the  estate,  and  I 


THE     MONKOE     PROPERTY.  195 

( 

shan't  see  her  wronged  by  nobody.  If  you  say  much,  I'll 
get  a  guardian  appointed  over  you,  youngster,  though  you'll 
have  precious  little  to  guard,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  Thank  you.  The  law,  I  believe,  allows  a  person  of  my 
age  the  privilege  of  choosing  a  guardian.  I  shall  select 
Master  Richard  Fenn,"  said  Fred,  coolly.  Then  turning  to 
his  mother,  he  repeated,  — 

« Is  there  a  will  ?  " 

"  No.  What  should  he  make  a  will  for  when  he  owed 
more  than  he  was  worth  ?  " 

Fred  looked  incredulous,  and  Mr.  Mason  went  on  in  his 
pompous  way,  — 

"  True  enough ;  ef  he'd  lived  a  little  longer  he  wouldn't 
a  left  his  widow  a  cent.  Come  to  take  out  her  thirds,  and 
a  note  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  which  she  holds  agin 
him,  there  won't  be  enough  left  to  pay  the  debts." 

"  Can  I  see  that  note  ? "  said  Fred,  after  a  second's 
silence. 

"  Yes ;  I  hain't  any  secrets.  Your  poor  father  wanted 
to  do  something  for  me ;  for  he  knew  what  a  slave  I'd  oilers 
been.  Show  it  to  him,  Bill." 

It  was  a  fair  note  of  hand,  dated  a  few  months  back,  and 
there  was  no  disputing  its  genuineness,  and  Fred  gave  it 
back  without  a  comment. 

"  You  see  it's  all  straight.  That  are  George  is  a  leetle 
shaky,  perhaps,  but  the  captin's  hand  hain't  been  none  of 
the  stiddiest  for  some  time,  you  know.  He  bore  on  pretty 
heavy  latterly." 


196  SIBYL. 

The  hot  blood  crimsoned  the  son's  cheek,  and  his  eye 
flashed  keenly,  as  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  rage, — 

"  Remember,  you  are  speaking  of  my  father,  man  —  in 
the  house  that  was  his  ;  ay,  is  his  now." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  flare  up  like  such  a  tiger,"  replied  the 
man,  drawing  off  a  step  or  two.  "  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you, 
I'm  sure.  Ef  you  are  a  mind  to  stay  here  for  the  next  six 
months,  you  can  have  your  board,  'cause  you're  a  minor. 
But  the  law  knows  nothin'  about  nieces.  Ef  the  gal  would 
like  a  place  in  the  factory,  I'll  try  and  get  her  one.  They 
say  they  want  hands  over  to  Rockville." 

Sibyl  would  have  spoken,  but  Fred  was  too  quick. 

"My  cousin  will  not  trouble  you,"  he  said,  haughtily. 
"  I  can  take  care  of  her.  Get  your  bonnet  and  shawl, 
Sibyl." 

She  obeyed,  and  with  her  hand  in  his,  he  led  her  over 
the  old  threshold.  They  walked  rapidly,  neither  speaking 
nor  looking  back,  until  they  reached  the  Hill  pasture  bars. 
Here  Fred  paused,  and  leaning  his  head  on  Sibyl's  shoulder, 
wept  like  a  child. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Sibyl.  Indeed  I  can't.  I  managed  to 
keep  it  in  down  there,  —  I  was  so  angry.  But  it's  my  old 
home,  —  my  father's  old  home,  —  and  it's  all  gone,  —  gone 
forever." 

She  did  not  bid  him  help  it.  She  only  folded  closer  the 
hand  which  she  held,  and  struggled  to  keep  back  her  own 
sobs,  lest  they  should  add  to  his  grief. 

It   has   been  a   windy  October  day.      Masses  of  dark 


WHAT     OF     THE     FUTURE.  197 

bluish-black  clouds  drove  athwart  the  sky,  and  cast  long 
black  shadows  over  the  valley,  and  the  yellow  leaves  that 
fluttered  to  their  feet,  or  clung  to  her  dress,  sent  a  cold  chill 
to  Sibyl's  heart.  It  seemed  a  gloomy  close  to  a  gloomy 
day ;  but  suddenly  the  dark  clouds  parted,  and  the  sun 
looked  out  clear  and  bright,  lighting  up  the  whole  valley,  as 
if  by  magic.  Even  the  great  cloud  racks,  sailing  away  to 
the  east,  were  edged  with  gold,  and  against  a  background 
of  pale  apple  green  —  a  hue  as  delicate  as  it  is  evanescent 
in  our  autumn  skies  —  stood  out  the  grand  old  granite  face. 
They  both  started  to  their  feet,  and  looked  at  it  in  silence  ; 
and  when  they  again  turned  to  each  other,  there  was  a  new 
light  in  their  eyes  —  hope  and  trust  shining  through  tears. 

That  night  there  was  high  council  held  in  the  family  of 
old  Master  Fenn.  Sibyl's  head  ran  over  schools,  music, 
millinery ;  but  old  mother  Mabel's  voice  finally  silenced 
them  all. 

"  Take  time,  children,"  she  said,  "  take  time.  A  night's 
rest  will  do  none  of  us  no  harm,  nor  a  month's  either,  to 
this  poor  child." 

But  there  was  no  rest  for  one  beneath  that  roof  that 
night.  Long  after  the  others  were  asleep,  and  the  old 
house  quiet,  Fred  Monroe  sat  by  his  window,  looking  out 
into  the  night.  The  flitting  clouds  left  scarcely  a  star 
visible  ;  but  he  did  not  think  of  that.  Amid  the  darkness 
and  sorrow  of  that  day,  a  new  light  had  dawned  upon  his 
heart,  a  new  hope  gave  value  and  dignity  to  life,  and  com 
pleted  the  cluing^  from  boyhood  to  manhood.  The  dreary 


198  SIBYL. 

shadows,  the  hopeless  despondency,  the  listlessness  and 
weariness  that  had  sometimes  clogged  his  footsteps,  fled 
before  it.  How  strange  that  he  should  never  have  been 
conscious  of  it  before !  How  natural  for  him,  in  the  first 
glad  tumult  of  the  discovery,  to  feel  glad  that  she  had 
no  one  to  protect  her,  no  one  to  lean  upon  but  him  !  It 
was  not  selfishness,  but  simply  the  exclusive  demand  of  his 
manhood  that  craved  to  be  all  and  every  thing  to  her.  He 
would  fold  the  secret  in  his  heart  until  the  hour  came,  and 
then 

The  room  grew  too  close  for  him  —  too  narrow.  He 
threw  up  the  sash,  and,  leaning  out,  let  the  cool  winds  fan 
his  cheek. 

There  was  one  other  there  who  did  not  sleep.  Not  from 
any  such  hopes  as  filled  the  heart  of  Fred  Monroe,  but  from 
sheer  indignation  at  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Monroe.  This  was 
Miss  Silence  ;  and  presently  her  stealthy  step  was  heard 
upon  the  stairs,  and  her  whisper  came  clear  and  sharp 
through  the  key  hole, — 

"  Shut  down  that  window,  and  go  to  bed  this  minute, 
Fred  Monroe  !  The  night  air  will  be  the  death  of  you  !  I 
believe  the  boy's  crazy." 

Fred  closed  the  window  and  sought  his  bed  ;  but  the  ex 
citement  of  the  day  and  the  exposure  to  the  night  air  were 
not  without  effect  upon  a  constitution  like  his,  and  it  was 
with  a  new  feeling  of  anxiety  that  he  marked  the  fresh 
blood  stains  upon  his  handkerchief,  after  a  severe  fit  of 
coughing,  next  morning ;  but  he  carefully  concealed  them 
from  all  eyes. 


WHAT     OF     THE     FUTURE.  199 

His  friends  only  noticed  his  haggard  paleness,  the  hollow 
cheeks  and  sunken  eyes ;  but  the  events  of  the  previous  day 
were  deemed  a  sufficient  excuse  to  satisfy  even  Miss 
Silence,  and  he  bade  them  "  good  by  "  with  words  of  cheer. 
It  takes  much  to  make  a  young  heart  despair  in  the  light  of 
a  hope  like  his. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THERE  is  a  great  deal  of  genuine  kindness  in  the  world. 
Love  and  pity  still  keep  their  dwellings  here,  only  we  are 
so  intent  on  seeing  nothing  but  ourselves,  that  we  fail  to 
recognize  them  beneath  the  rough  disguises  they  sometimes 
wear.  To  have  looked  upon  the  patched  clothes  and  un 
shaven  face  of  the  man  Culver,  no  one  would  have  suspected 
they  would  have  chosen  such  a  tabernacle ;  but  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes  when  he  came  up  to  Master  Richard's  to 
offer  Sibyl  a  home  among  his  own  children  as  long  as  she 
should  choose  to  stay,  striving  to  fashion  his  blunt  tongue  to 
such  expressions  as  should  make  it  seem  that  the  obligation 
would  be  on  their  part ;  and  even  mother  Mabel  forgot  to 
rebuke  the  oath  which  inadvertently  slipped  out  when  he 
spoke  of  Mrs.  Monroe's  treatment  of  the  children. 

"They're  willing  Fred  shall  have  all  the  law'll  allow 
him.  They  don't  want  to  wrong  him  out  of  a  cent.  That's 
what  she  told  me  herself;  for  when  I  heard  the  children 
had  quit,  I  went  right  up  there,  and  let  in  to  her.  Jest  as 
ef  she  hadn't  been  a  plannin'  for  years  to  get  the  whole  ! 
Ef  the  law  can't  touch  her,  the  tongue  can,  and  I'll  not  spare 
her  a  bit.  I  know  hen" 

(200) 


AT     M  ASTER     FENN's.  201 

"  It's  little  Polly  Monroc'll  care  for  the  tongue  as  long  as 
she  has  the  money,"  remarked  Miss  Silence. 

"  I  do'no  that.  She's  human,  and,  I  guess,  a  woman. 
She's  oilers  had  a  great  notion  of  bein'  respectable  and 
pious  in  her  way.  Only  last  week  she  had  the  minister's 
folks  invited  up  there,  and  this  mornin'  she  told  me  'twould 
learn  Fred  to  put  his  trust  in  the  Lord.  Trust  in  the 
Lord !  I  guess  ef  she'd  held  on  trustin'  a  little  longer,  she 
wouldn't  have  got  that  note  for  fifteen  hundred.  Every 
body  knows  the  capp'n  couldn't  a  been  himself  when  he 
signed  it." 

The  week  brought  other  neighbors ;  among  them  Mrs. 
Hitchcock  from  the  Corners,  with  her  memories  of  little 
Dave,  and  her  endless  chat  about  the  girls,  and  how 
glad  they  Avould  be,  as  well  as  herself  and  he,  to  have  Sibyl 
come  and  "  stay  a  spell  with  them."  Curiosity,  no  doubt, 
had  its  share  in  many  of  these  visits  ;  still  Sibyl  could  not 
help  feeling  touched  by  the  homely  expressions  of  sympa 
thy,  especially  when  she  thought  of  the  neglect  of  her  own 
friends. 

Immediately  after  the  death  of  her  uncle,  she  wrote  to 
her  parents,  and  pleaded  for  permission  to  join  them ;  and 
old  Master  Richard,  in  a  few  earnest  words  to  his  old  pupil, 
seconded  her  request. 

"  She  was  even  as  a  child  to  them,"  he  said ;  "  but  he 
could  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  insist  upon  retaining  her.  He 
knew  how  they  must  long  to  see  her  ;  and  besides,  he  was 
getting  old,  —  Arthur  must  know  that, —  life  was  precarious, 


202  SIBYL. 

and  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  her  being  left  alone. 
She  is  a  quiet  bird,  and  needs  the  shelter  of  your  arms, 
Arthur." 

Had  either  he  or  Sibyl  been  capable  of  looking  into 
Arthur  Monroe's  heart  when  he  opened  those  letters,  and 
seeing  how  their  words  pierced  through  the  crust  under 
which  loss  of  self-respect  and  its  consequent  vices  had 
buried  it,  stirring  the  stagnant  fountains  of  memory  and 
tenderness  for  his  child  and  brother,  until  he  bowed  his 
head  upon  his  hands  and  wept  bitter,  self-accusing  tears, 
they  would  have  wept  in  sympathy ;  but  far  more  sorrow 
fully,  when,  unable  longer  to  bear  these  self-reproaches,  he, 
coward-like,  shrunk  from  himself,  and  sought  forgetfulness 
in  what  had  now  become  to  him  a  common  resort  — 
the  gaming  table ;  far  more  hopelessly,  had  they  seen  the 
moody  air  with  which  he  answered  Elsie's  question  some 
hours  later,  when,  looking  up  from  the  letters  he  had  thrown 
into  her  lap,  she  asked  what  he  purposed  to  do. 

"  Nothing.  What  sort  of  a  shelter  would  this  place  be  ?  " 
and  he  glanced  with  a  look  of  disgust  around  the  slovenly, 
ill-arranged  apartment.  "  What  could  we  do  for  her  ? 
What  have  we  done  for  Willie  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  have  done  all  for  him  that  I  possibly  could. 
I  have  deprived  myself  willingly  of  every  thing  to  give  him 
pleasure,  poor  boy.  Last  night  he  took  all  the  money  I 
had  remaining  after  paying  Pauline.  I  am  worried  to 
death  about  him,  Arthur,"  said  the  mother,  burying  her 
worn,  anxious  face  in  a  richly  embroidered  handkerchief, 


WILLIE.  203 

to  conceal  the  tears  which  she  had  long  since  learned  were 
powerless  with  her  husband. 

Monroe  seemed  moved. 

"  Has  he  not  been  in  since  last  night,  Elsie  ?  " 

"  No." 

The  father  paced  the  narrow  room  in  silence.  He  had 
no  face  to  reproach  the  mother  with  her  ruinous  indulgence 
towards  the  boy ;  he  feit  too  keenly  still  his  own  error  in 
giving  him  up  thus  wholly  to  her  influence,  and  his  heart 
smote  him  as  he  looked  at  the  bowed  and  trembling  figure 
of  his  wife. 

"  I  will  look  for  him,  Elsie,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  I  pre 
sume  I  can  find  him  without  much  trouble.  Is  he  often 
out  thus  ?  " 

It  was  a  sad  question,  revealing  as  it  did  the  utter  es 
trangement  between  the  husband  and  wife,  and  the  latter 
felt  it.  Lifting  her  face,  she  answered,  — 

"  Not  until  of  late.  If  you  find  him,  don't  speak  harshly 
to  him,  Arthur.  He  is  so  young,  and  youth  must  have  its 
follies,  you  know.  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  late,"  she 
went  on,  encouraged  by  his  evident  interest  and  kindly 
expression,  "  that  if  we  could  only  go  to  some  quiet  place 
where  there  would  be  fewer  temptations  for  him,  where 
you  could  be  more  with  us,  it  would  be  better  for  us 
all." 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  live  at  Eltham,  Elsie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  any  where,  if  I  could  but  keep  Willie  ;  but  I  am 
afraid  he  would  never  be  contented  to  stay  there." 


204  SIBYL. 

"  You  are  right ;  he  would  be  no  more  contented  than 
you  or  I.  It  is  idle  deceiving  ourselves,  Elsie.  We  cannot 
recall  the  past,  nor  re-create  ourselves,  if  we  would,"  he 
said,  sadly.  "  But  Sibyl  —  have  you  any  wish  to  introduce 
her  to  our  menage  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Pauline  is  so  heedless  ;  and  Sibyl,  as  a 
child,  was  very  helpful.  She  always  seemed  to  know  just 
what  one  wanted.  I  thought  she  might  help ;  but  I  don't 
see  where  we  could  put  her,  we  are  so  crowded  now ;  and 
I  suppose  we  can't  take  more  rooms  until  your  business  is 
better,"  said  the  mother,  with  a  sigh. 

Monroe  sighed  too.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the 
room  in  his  father's  house ;  for  he  said,  as  he  took  his  hat 
and  gloves,  — 

"  No ;  and  for  my  part,  I  would  much  rather  that  my 
daughter  should  be  a  servant  in  the  house  of  Richard  Fenn 
all  her  days,  than  to  be  for  one  week  exposed  to  what  she 
Avould  necessarily  meet  here." 

And  thus  they  decided  to  leave  Sibyl  to  herself,  ignoring 
all  the  yearning  tenderness  of  her  nature  which  impelled 
her  to  reach  out  her  hands  towards  them,  forgetful  that,  as 
week  after  week  and  month  after  month  passed  by,  she  was 
waiting,  watching,  praying  for  some  word  of  affection,  or 
even  recognition,  wearying  herself  with  conjectures  about 
missing  letters,  anxious  forebodings  of  illness  or  death,  until 
her  heart  grew  faint  and  her  brain  weary. 

She  knew  that  her  old  friends  were  sincere  when  they 
said  that  she  "  was  as  welcome  as  the  day  "  to  share  their 


REVIEWING     OLD     STUDIES.  205 

home,  but  the  experience  of  the  past  years  had  taught  her 
the  value  of  self-dependence,  and  she  determined,  if  she  did 
not  join  her  parents,  to  become  a  teacher. 

So  there  were  lessons  that  winter  —  old  studies  reviewed 
under  the  eye  of  Master  Richard ;  and  music  lessons  twice 
a  week,  under  the  instructions  of  the  minister's  niece,  Miss 
Flora  Hale  ;  and  diligent  practice  in  drawing. 

Every  beautiful  location  about  the  straggling  old  town 
found  a  place  in  her  portfolio,  or  upon  the  walls  of  the  old 
house  ;  for  Master  Fenn  was  skilled  in  the  manufacture  of 
all  sorts  of  quaint  frames,  and  these  scenes  of  his  boyish 
feats  looked  out  from  settings  of  mosses  and  acorns,  oak 
leaves  and  feathery  grass. 

Indeed,  as  Miss  Silence  observed,  "between  the  music 
and  the  pictures,  they  had  summer  there  all  the  while." 

Then  there  were  Fred's  letters,  looking  forward  to  the 
future,  so  rich  in  promise,  hopeful,  cheerful,  wanting  in 
nothing  but  assurances  of  his  own  health  —  a  subject  upon 
which  he  seldom  touched. 

Sibyl  had  often  spoken  to  her  old  friend  of  her  picture, 
which  had  been  left  in  Judge  Simmons's  care ;  and  one 
afternoon,  on  returning  from  a  long  walk  to  her  music 
teacher's,  she  was  delighted  to  find  it  hanging  upon  the 
wall  in  Master  Richard's  den. 

Some  weeks  later,  when  the  warm  breath  of  spring 
flushed  the  hills  and  made  the  fresh  air  like  balm,  she  sat 
gazing  at  this  picture,  and  trying  to  trace  the  resemblance 
between  the  serene,  patient,  womanly  face  of  Mary's 


206  SIBYL. 

mother,  and  that  of  old  mother  Mabel,  who  was  seated  by 
the  window  where  the  sinking  sun  poured  a  flood  of  golden 
light  upon  her  silver  hair  and  unwinking  eyes.  Taking  up 
her  pencils,  she  began  to  sketch  the  old  lady  as  she  sat 
there ;  and  so  entirely  did  she  become  absorbed  in  her  work, 
that  she  did  not  notice  the  footsteps  approaching  the  thresh 
old,  until  a  sudden  movement  of  the  sitter,  and  her 
"  Hark !  there  comes  Dick,  and  somebody  with  him ! " 
aroused  her. 

Before  she  could  gather  up  her  scattered  papers  and  lay 
them  aside,  the  old  man  had  entered,  followed  by  a  gentle 
man  whom  he  introduced  as  Mr.  Ernest  Wentworth. 

Slightly  bowing,  the  gentleman  passed  on  to  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  to  speak  to  mother  Mabel,  while  Master 
Fenn  looked  at  the  sketch. 

She  had  not  gone  beyond  a  mere  outline ;  but  Master 
Richard  was  delighted  with  its  truthfulness,  and  he  called 
to  his  friend,  saying,  — 

"I  promised  you  some  music,  Ernest;  but  first  come  and 
look  at  this  sketch.  Isn't  it  admirable  ? "  he  added,  as 
the  gentleman  came  to  his  side.  "  Sit  still  a  moment, 
mother  — just  as  you  are." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  very  striking  outline,"  said  Mr.  Went 
worth,  glancing  from  the  sketch  to  the  original.  "  If  it  is 
as  carefully  finished  as  —  But  what  is  this  ?  " 

He  had  changed  his  position  to  get  a  better  light,  and 
the  movement  had  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  Ma 
ter  Dolorosa. 


THE     MATER     DOLOROSA.  207 

"  Something  new  —  and  —  yet  I  have  surely  seen  this 
picture  before.  I  remember  that  atmosphere,  so  much 
better  than  is  usually  found  in  the  old  copies.  May  I  ask 
where  you  obtained  it  ?  " 

"  It  belongs  to  my  young  friend  here,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  curious  smile. 

"  Indeed ! " 

He  turned  the  picture,  so  that  the  full  light  which 
now  rested  upon  it  brought  out  his  own  features  more 
distinctly ;  and  Sibyl's  recollection,  quicker  than  his,  recog 
nized  him  at  once.  The  face  was  changed  —  it  was 
older  —  more  thoughtful  —  a  trifle  sterner,  but  the  same 
into  which  she  had  looked  up  on  that  sorrowful  morning 
which  had  left  her  homeless.  She  was  about  to  speak,  but 
he  forestalled  her. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said.  "  It  was  at  the  house  of 
that " 

Old  Richard  Fenn's  grasp  upon  Sibyl's  arm  was  like  a 
vice,  as  he  suddenly  drew  her  forward,  and  said  hastily,  — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Wentworth,  but  I  forgot  to  say  that 
my  young  friend  here,  the  owner  of  the  picture,  is  Arthur 
Monroe's  daughter." 

The  gentleman  bowed  haughtily,  and  after  a  few  mo 
ments  of  embarrassment,  at  least  on  the  part  of  Sibyl  and ' 
her  old  friend,  he  took  his  hat  to  go. 

"Stay,  Ernest  —  you  have  forgotten  the  music!"  said 
Master  Fenn.  "  Sibyl,  child,  will  you  play  ?  " 

She  sat  down  to  the  organ,  and  took  the  first  piece  of 


208  SIBYL. 

music  that  lay  before  her,  which  happened  to  be  Schubert's 
"  Thou  art  the  Rest." 

The  inspiration  of  the  moment  was  more  to  the  young 
singer  than  art  or  culture,  for  she  Avas  moved  almost  to 
tears  by  the  recollections  which  Mr.  Wentworth's  presence 
recalled;  all  the  sorrow  and  loneliness  of  that  time  were 
present  with  her,  and  she  sang  as  if  there  were,  indeed,  no 
rest  for  her  save  with  the  all-perfect  Father. 

The  gentlemen  listened  intently,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
deep,  appreciative  silence  that  followed  the  performance,  so 
much  more  grateful  to  the  true  artist  than  loud-voiced 
praise,  she  glided  from  the  room. 

"  How  came  she  here  ?  "  suddenly  asked  Mr.  "Wentworth, 
rousing  himself.  "  I  thought  the  family  went  abroad." 

"  They  did  —  all  but  this  one.  She  remained  here  with 
her  uncle  until  his  death." 

"  And  since  with  you  ?  " 

The  old  man  bowed. 

"  I  understand  now  —  she  is  the  same  girl,  and  that  is 
the  same  picture ; "  and  sitting  down,  he  related  the  accident 
which  had  occurred  on  the  day  of  Elsie's  flight. 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  this  before,"  said  Master 
Richard.  "  Other  creditors  Avere  less  honorable,  however ; 
they  would  not  admit  the  child's  claim  to  the  picture,  and 
Jim  Hungerford,  having  become  interested  in  Sibyl,  paid 
for  it  a  large  price.  He  said  he  had  a  contempt  for  such 
trash,  but  he  Avouldn't  have  the  girl  wronged." 

"  Hungerford  died  some  time  ago,  I  think." 


ERNEST      "SEES      IT      ALL."  209 

"  Yes." 

"  lie  had  the  reputation  of  being  rich.  I  wonder  how 
he  disposed  of  his  property." 

"  There  are  various  rumors  about,"  returned  the  old 
man,  smiling.  "  Some  say  that  he  gave  it  all  to  me ;  but 
Jim  was  far  too  wise  a  man  to  do  that." 

Mr.  Wentworth  started  to  his  feet,  and  grasped  Master 
Richard's  hand,  saying,  — 

"  Ay,  I  see  it  all  now.  He  did  do  it,  and  it  was  his 
property  that  you  transferred  to  me.  You  gave  it  all  up. 
Forgive  me,  Master  Richard  —  that  I  have  been  too  blind, 
too  selfish,  too  much  occupied  to  see  all  this  before.  It  is 
so,  and  that  clause  about  the  heir's  majority  was  a  simple 
ruse  —  was  it  not  ?  "  he  added,  seeing  the  old  man's  embar 
rassed  look. 

"  I  told  you  to  ask  no  questions,  Ernest." 

An  hour  after  the  departure  of  Mr.  Wentworth,  while 
the  old  man  still  sat  alone  in  his  room,  busy  at  work  on 
some  pet  job,  Sibyl  again  stood  at  his  side.  He  began  to 
explain  to  her  something  about  the  lens  for  a  telescope 
which  he  was  preparing ;  but  she  put  it  aside,  and  said, 
gravely,  — 

"  Dear  Master  Richard,  will  you  tell  me  what  connection 
there  was  between  papa  and  this  Mr.  Wentworth  ?  " 

"  Some  business  relations,  I  believe.     Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  must  know  all  about  it.  You  will  tell  me, 
Master  Fenn  ?  Is  not  he  the  person  whom  papa  meant 
14 


210  SIBYL. 

when  he  said  he  had  wronged  some  one  ?  You  know  —  I 
told  you  about  the  letter." 

"  He  is  —  or  rather  his  father  was.  But  you  cannot 
change  this,  my  child  —  it  will  not  add  to  your  happiness 
to  talk  about  it ; "  and  he  would  have  returned  to  his  hob 
by,  but  she  was  not  to  be  put  off. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  said,  sadly,  seating  herself  by  his 
side  ;  "  but  I  must  know  all." 

Thinking  it  might,  indeed,  be  best  to  gratify  her,  the  old 
man  told  as  briefly  as  he  could,  and  as  kindly  as  his 
strong  sense  of  right  would  permit,  the  story  of  her  father's 
crime. 

She  sat  with  drooped  eyelids  and  folded  hands  for  some 
moments  after  he  ceased  to  speak.  At  length  she  said,  — 

"Thank  you,  Master  Fenn.  It  is  as  I  thought — and 
this  gentleman  —  he  dislikes  me  for  xny  father's  sake  ?  " 

"What  makes  you  think  so,  child?  fie  said  nothing 
of  the  kind." 

"  No ;  but  I  felt  it  even  when  I  was  singing,"  she  re 
turned,  with  a  slight  shiver. 

"  0,  that  is  nonsense,  child.  You  wrong  him,"  said 
Master  Fenn,  earnestly.  "  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  "  he 
asked,  a  few  moments  after,  as  he  turned  and  saw  her  still 
in  the  same  attitude. 

"Of  some  means  to  pay  this  money  back.  I  would 
almost  be  willing  to  become  a  slave  to  do  it." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Two  weeks  or  so  after  Mr.  "Wentworth's  call,  a  carriage 
drove  up  to  Master  Fenn's  door,  and  a  tall  woman,  dressed 
in  deep  mourning,  alighted. 

"  Gracious  goodness  !  if  there  isn't  old  Mrs.  Wentworth 
comin'  here  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Silence.  "  What's  going  to 
happen  now  ?  Brother  Dick,  put  up  those  books  there ; 
Sibyl,  there  are  some  threads  on  the  carpet  by  your  feet ; " 
and  the  good  woman  bustled  about,  settling  the  borders  to 
mother  Mabel's  cap,  and  sweeping  her  apron  across  the 
dustless  tables. 

Brother  Dick  met  the  lady  at  the  door,  and  ushered  her 
into  the  room.  Sibyl  was  introduced  to  her ;  but  she  only 
bestowed  upon  her  a  slight  bow,  and  entered  into  conver 
sation  with  Miss  Silence  and  mother  Mabel,  whom  she 
greeted  with  a  great  deal  of  stately,  if  not  kindly  courtesy. 

The  resemblance  between  the  mother  and  son  was  very 
striking.  It  was  a  grand  face  —  the  features  large  and  well 
defined,  but  dark  and  severe,  as  if  the  fire  of  life  had  burned 
out,  and  left  there  nought  but  shadows. 

Even  her  deep  mourning  garments  seemed  to  Sibyl  to 
!,;)ve  caught  their  gloom  from  her;  and  so  intent  was  she 

(211) 


212  SIBYL. 

upon  the  face  and  figure,  that  she  started  and  trembled,  as 
if  caught  in  the  commission  of  some  crime,  when,  turning 
the  great  dark  eyes  upon  her,  and  deliberately  scanning  her 
from  head  to  foot,  the  lady  turned  to  Master  Fenn,  and 
said,  — 

"  My  son  Ernest  informed  me  that  there  was  a  young 
person  staying  with  you  whom  I  might  possibly  secure  as 
governess  to  my  grand-daughter.  Is  this  the  person  ?  "  with 
another  glance  at  Sibyl. 

"  I  presume  it  is,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  a  rather  puz 
zled  look.  "  This  is  Arthur  Monroe's  daughter  Sibyl." 

"  I  am  aware  of  her  parentage,"  said  the  lady,  in  that 
same  cold,  measured  tone ;  we  set  aside  that.  Can  you 
recommend  her  as  a  suitable  person  ?  " 

"  None  more  so,  Mrs.  Wentworth,  both  as  to  character 
and  acquirements.  She  is  a  very  dear  child  to  us ; "  and 
the  old  man's  eye  rested  fondly  upon  the  embarrassed  face 
of  Sibyl. 

"  Then  I  am  satisfied.  Neither  my  son  nor  myself  need 
any  recommendation  save  the  word  of  Master  Richard 
Fenn.  We  will,  if  you  please,  arrange  the  terms." 

"But  the  child  must  decide  for  herself.  "What  do  you 
say,  Sibyl  ?  Would  you  prefer  this  situation  to  a  district 
school  ?  "  asked  Master  Fenn,  anxiously. 

"  May  I  know  just  what  will  be  required  of  me  ?  "  said 
Sibyl,  for  the  first  time  confronting  the  lady. 

"  You  will  be  expected  to  teach  English  and  music  thor 
oughly,  and  take  care  of  your  own  room  and  Miss  Winnie's. 


SIBYL     A     GOVERNESS.  213 

Besides,  it  may  be  as  well  to  add,  that  I  like  quiet,  and  do 
not  approve  of  much  company." 

"  I  have  no  friends  save  these  and  one  other,"  said  Sibyl, 
sadly.  "  May  I  know  the  terms  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  per  year,  and  board." 

"  I  accept  them,  ma'am.  When  shall  my  labors  com 
mence  ?  " 

The  lady  seemed  pleased.  "  Next  Monday,"  she  said  ; 
"  you  are  prompt,  Miss  Monroe ;  I  like  that.  Let  me  find 
that  you  are  also  punctual." 

"  My  patience  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Silence,  watching  the 
lady  down  the  walk,  escorted  by  Master  Richard.  "I 
wouldn't  be  Madam  Wentworth,  with  all  her  grandeur,  for 
considerable.  She's  jest  like  a  great  black  cloud.  I  won 
der  if  the  wind  never  blows  up  a  light  streak  in  her  any 
where.  No  wonder  Ernest  looks  so  proud  sometimes. 
Sibyl,  they'll  freeze  you  to  death  between  them.  You'll 
have  to  run  home  pretty  often  to  warm  your  hands  in  moth 
er's  apron." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it,  being  four  miles  off.  But  I  am 
used  to  walking,  you  know.  I  wish  I  had  asked  her  how 
often  I  may  come  home." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  were  a  little  hasty  in  your  decis 
ion,  child  ? "  said  Master  Richard,  looking  up  from  his 
book  an  hour  or  so  later.  "  I  had  hardly  thought  the  mat 
ter  over  when  you  decided." 

Sibyl  held  out  to  him  a  drawing  over  which  she  had  been 
poring  for  some  time.  It  was  her  childish  conception  of  the 
mountaineer  of  the  torrent ;  and  pointing  to  it,  she  said,  — 


214  SIBYL. 

"  I  used  to  think  the  mountaineer  a  happy  man  because 
he  was  permitted  to  bear  that  burden.  Shall  I  shrink  from 
mine  now  ?  If  I  do  my  duty  by  this  child,  may  they  not 
in  time  come  to  think  less  hardly  of  me  and  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  they  must !  "  said  the  old  man.  "  They  can 
not  help  loving  you,  and  you  will  be  a  blessing  to  them." 

Sibyl  shook  her  head.  "  I  think  they  can  be  just,  and 
that  is  all  I  have  a  right  to  expect." 

She  did  not  disappoint  her  patroness.  The  sun  was 
scarcely  up  on  Monday  morning,  when,  with  the  blessing 
of  mother  Mabel  and  Miss  Silence  warming  her  heart,  she 
started  with  Master  Richard  for  her  new  home.  Her  old 
friend  seemed  in  no  mood  to  talk,  and  they  drove  along  in 
silence,  until  leaving  the  Hartford  turnpike,  they  rounded  a 
spur  of  the  hills  which  stretched  out  on  their  left,  and  en 
tered  a  long,  winding  valley,  traversed  by  a  rapid  stream. 
The  road  still  kept  the  level,  close  at  the  foot  of  the  hills, 
sometimes  elbowed  quite  beneath  the  rocks  by  the  capri 
cious  stream,  which  was  hedged  from  sight  by  a  thick 
growth  of  hemlocks,  birches,  and  sycamores ;  but  its  babble 
still  proclaimed  its  whereabout,  and  now  and  then  Sibyl 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sparkling  waters,  as  they  flashed 
along  over  their  rocky  bed.  It  was  a  perfect  Undine  in  its 
movements,  now  babbling  saucily  close  beneath  their  carriage 
wheels,  then  suddenly  running  off  in  a  huff,  and  hiding  be 
hind  clumps  of  willows  and  witch-hazels ;  and  Sibyl  could 
scarcely  believe  it  to  be  the  same  stream  that  swept  with 
such  a  quiet  flow  through  her  uncle's  meadows  a  few  miles 
below. 


THE     MORNING     RIDE.  215 

After  crossing  a  rustic  bridge,  and  rounding  another 
elbow  of  the  hills,  Master  Fenn  drew  in  his  reins,  and 
pointed  out  the  village,  stretching  along  both  banks  of  the 
river,  —  whose  waters  lay  quiet  enough  there,  shut  in  by  the 
massive  dams,  —  or  nestled  upon  the  declivities  of  the  hills, 
which,  in  some  places,  swept  so  close  to  the  stream  as  to  be 
scarce  the  space  of  an  arrow's  flight  apart.  A  great  por 
tion  of  the  houses  still  lay  beneath  the  shadows ;  but  the 
wooded  hill  tops,  the  factories,  with  their  gilded  domes,  and 
the  slender  church  spire,  glittered  and  gleamed  in  the  morn 
ing  light  like  burnished  gold. 

Sibyl  felt  herself  grown  strong.  There  was  something 
within  her  in  unison  with  that  clear,  invigorating  atmos 
phere,  and  her  soul  went  out  in  silent  thanksgiving  to  God 
that  he  had  cast  her  lot  amid  so  much  beauty,  and  earnest 
aspirations  that  she  might  become  an  instrument  of  blessing 
to  the  inmates  of  her  new  home. 

Therefore,  when  Master  Richard  pointed  out  Mr.  "Went- 
worth's  cottage,  near  the  centre  of  the  place,  and  looked  -in 
her  face,  half  expecting  to  see  there  anxiety  and  regret,  lie 
met  only  quiet  resolution,  and  her  look,  quite  as  much  as 
the  words  with  which  she  answered  his  mute  inquiry, 
reassured  him. 

"  Not  so,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  am  grateful  for  a 
situation  so  much  to  my  taste,  and  I  feel  that  I  shall 
succeed." 

"  Then  you  cannot  fail  of  being  happy,"  returned  the  old 
man.  "  There  is  much  that  is  noble  —  even  good  —  in  the 


216  SIBYL. 

characters  of  your  employers,  Sibyl,"  he  added,  after  a  pause ; 
"  but  there  is  a  blight  over  it  all  —  the  mildew  of  egotism 
and  the  pride  of  human  wisdom  which  insists  upon  control 
ling  its  way,  ignoring  the  fact  that  God  and  man  must  ever 
be  co-workers.  You  must  try  to  overcome  this,  child." 

"  I !  You  forget  who  I  am,  Master  Fenn,  and  what 
relation  I  bear  to  these  people." 

"  No,  indeed ;  and  this  may  be  a  part  of  your  mission 
here,  child.  Your  old  friend,  the  mountaineer,  was  not 
allowed  to  pick  and  choose,  I  think." 

Sibyl  felt  rather  nervous  when  she  entered  the  parlor  and 
stood  before  her  employers  for  the  first  time. 

Mrs.  TTentworth's  greeting  was  courteous,  though  cold ; 
the  son's  respectfully  polite,  as  was  due  the  governess  of  his 
daughter ;  while  both  treated  her  old  friend  with  affectionate 
cordiality. 

"  You  are  early,  Miss  Monroe,"  remarked  Mr.  Went- 
worth,  turning  from  an  animated  conversation  with  Master 
Eichard,  to  where  Sibyl  sat  demurely,  shadowed  by  the 
black  garments  of  his  mother.  "  Your  little  pupil  has  not 
breakfasted  yet,  I  think.  Mother,  shall  I  not  tell  Janet  to 
bring  in  the  child  ?  " 

"  Winnie  is  not  accustomed  to  come  into  the  parlor  until 
after  she  has  breakfasted,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  infringe  the  rule.  Miss  Monroe  will  soon  see  her  in 
the  room  appropriated  to  their  use ;  in  the  mean  time  she 
may  like  to  see  her  own  room." 

The  governess  bowed,  and  the  lady  rang  the  bell  and 


THE     NEW     HOME.  217 

ordered  the  servant  to  show  "  Miss  Sibyl  Monroe  the  east 
chamber." 

Sibyl  followed  the  servant.  Her  trunk  and  boxes,  she 
found,  had  already  preceded  her ;  and  sitting  down  as  the  door 
closed  behind  the  servant,  she  looked  around  the  room  with 
a  strange  feeling.  The  whole  change  had  been  so  sudden, 
it  was  as  if  some  resistless  but  unseen  will,  over  which  she 
had  no  control,  had  placed  her  there. 

She  wondered  if  she  was  expected  to  return  to  the  parlor 
—  if  she  was  not  to  say  "  good  by  "  to  Master  Richard  ;  and 
even  while  she  wondered,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  old 
friend  passing  up  the  gravel  walk,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Wentworth,  and  presently  after  she  saw  them  draw  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  factory. 

For  a  moment  she  felt  hardly  towards  him.  She  had  not 
thought  he  could  leave  her  thus,  without  a  single  word ; 
and  she  yielded  to  the  feeling  of  desertion  that  overcame 
her.  Once  more  she  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  place,  and 
she  was  struggling  against  the  weakness  that  came  with  this 
thought,  when  she  heard  the  tread  of  little  feet  on  the  mat 
ting  in  the  hall,  and  a  moment  after,  the  door,  which  had 
been  left  ajar  by  Janet,  was  slowly  pushed  back,  and  a 
child's  face  showed  itself  in  the  opening. 

She  did  not  speak  or  offer  to  come  in,  and  Sibyl,  after 
waiting  a  second  for  some  demonstration  on  her  part,  held 
out  her  arms. 

The  little  girl  looked  timidly  back  into  the  hall,  made  a 
step  or  two  inside  of  the  door,  then  took  another  long  look 


218  SIBYL. 

at  Sibyl,  and  sprang  into  the  outstretched  arms.  She  flung 
one  little  arm  about  her  neck,  whispering  as  she  did  so,  — 

"  I  could  not  wait  any  longer.  I  wanted  to  see  you  so 
much !  Please  don't  tell  grandmamma." 

"  Why  not,  my  dear  ? "  asked  Sibyl,  as  she  settled  the 
child  on  her  knee. 

"  Because  she  would  say  it  was  not  proper,"  was  the 
reply. 

She  was  wholly  unlike  her  father  or  grandmother;  a 
fair-faced,  blue-eyed  child,  with  flossy,  flaxen  hair,  and  an  air 
of  timidity  quite  different  from  the  usual  self-willed  manner 
of  a  petted,  only  child. 

But  her  reply,  coupled  to  Sibyl's  knowledge  of  her 
grandmother's  character,  explained  this,  while  it  made  her 
somewhat  uncertain  as  to  the  best  course  to  pursue,  in 
order  not  to  offend  the  old  lady,  and  yet  mark  to  the  child 
her  sense  of  the  wrong  of  deception. 

She  spoke  a  few  gentle,  welcoming  words  to  her,  then 
said,  — 

"  Did  your  grandmother  forbid  your  coming  to  see  me, 
Winnie  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  came  without  asking.  She  would,  if  I  had 
asked  ;  for  every  day,  after  I  have  bidden  her  good  morn 
ing,  I  have  to  walk  or  play  in  the  garden  until  I  have  my 
breakfast.  Grandmother  says  I  must  go  nowhere  else." 

"  I  think  she  will  excuse  you  this  time.  I  shall  ask  her 
to.  Let  us  go  down  and  see." 

The  child   hung  back,     At  last    she  put    her  hand   in 


WINNIE'S   TRANSGRESSION.  219 

Sibyl's ;  but  it  was  evident,  from  her  slow,  lingering  step, 
that  the  move  was  a  distasteful  one,  and  that  her  confidence 
in  her  new  friend  was  somewhat  shaken. 

Sibyl  entered  the  parlor,  and,  leading  her  up  to  Mrs. 
Wentworth,  said, — 

"  Your  little  granddaughter  fears  she  has  done  wrong  in 
coming  to  speak  to  me  without  your  consent,  and  I  have 
promised  her  to  beg  you  to  pardon  her  this  time." 

"  An  unwise  beginning,  Miss  Monroe  ;  but  as  you  are  a 
stranger,  ignorant  of  our  rules,  it  may  be  best  to  overlook 
it  for  this  once."  Then  turning  her  strong  eye  on  Winnie, 
she  added,  pointing  to  a  small  manuscript  book  which  lay 
on  the  table  beside  her,  — 

"  If  I  do  not  put  down  a  mark  against  you  this  time  it  is 
not  because  you  do  not  deserve  it ;  only  because  Miss  Mon 
roe  has  asked  it.  Do  you  understand,  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

The  grandmother's  tone,  though  quick  and  emphatic,  was 
not  unkind ;  at  least,  it  did  not  seem  to  Sibyl  that  she  meant 
it  to  be  unkind ;  but  there  was  such  a  rigid  inflexibility 
about  it,  that  her  heart  ached  at  the  thought  of  the  cold, 
barren  life  the  child  must  have  hitherto  lived. 

They  did  not  understand  children  —  neither  the  father 
nor  the  grandmother.  They  supplied  little  Winnie  with 
every  thing  necessary  to  health  and  physical  well  being,  but 
withheld  that  without  which  childish  life  is  so  sad  —  warm, 
loving  sympathy.  Not  because  they  did  not  hold  her  very 
precious,  but  the  grandmother's  heart  could  admit  of  no 


220  S  I  B  T  L  . 

plurality  of  idols  —  her  son  was  all  in  all  to  her ;  and,  as 
we  have  already  hinted,  the  son  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
put  the  bitter  memories  connected  with  her  mother  far 
enough  away,  to  make  her  to  him  all  she  should  be  ;  he 
was,  as  yet,  too  intent  upon  his  own  wounds  to  heed  those 
he  was  inflicting  upon  his  child. 

Sibyl's  own  experience  helped  her  to  an  understanding 
of  all  this.  In  her  the  child  found  a  loving,  appreciating 
response  to  every  childish  thought  and  feeling.  A  word  or 
a  look  from  her  soon  came  to  have  more  influence  in  con 
trolling  her  somewhat  peculiar  temper,  than  all  her  grand 
mother's  marks  of  discredit,  even  if  at  the  end  of  the  week 
there  rose  before  her  the  prospect  of  imprisonment  in  the 
garret,  and  a  diet  of  bread  and  water. 

Their  daily  walks  sometimes  led  them  among  the  factories  ; 
and  as  Sibyl  watched  the  working  of  the  mighty  mechani 
cal  power  there, — so  prompt,  unerring,  unwearied,  and  re 
sistless,  —  she  was  led  to  query  whether  the  same  power  did 
not  extend  to  the  lives  of  her  employers,  and  regulate  all 
their  domestic  life.  There  was  the  same  silent,  unyielding 
promptitude,  which  conceived  of  no  delay ;  the  same  exact 
ing  regularity,  which  admitted  of  no  change  ;  the  same  iron 
force,  which  recognized  neither  weakness  nor  imperfection, 
nor  even  the  shortcomings  of  childhood. 

The  whole  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  silent,  cold,  and 
pale.  One  would  have  sup  posed  that  the  quiet,  thoughtful- 
eyed  little  governess,  whose  light  step  was  scarcely  heard 
in  those  dim  parlors,  would  have  grown  colder  and  paler 


THE     NEW    HOME.  221 

still  in  such  a  chilly  place,  like  some  miserable  plant,  that, 
defrauded  of  air  and  light,  merely  lives  on,  putting  forth 
neither  flowers  nor  fruit. 

Had  the  warmth  within  her  heart  been  merely  a  reflected, 
uncertain  light,  it  might  have  been  so ;  but  that  had  been 
kindled  at  the  great  centre  of  light,  and  the  changing  winds 
which  had  driven  her  into  this  haven  only  fanned  it  to  a 
brighter  flame. 

We  forget  that  it  is  not  amid  the  calm,  still,  peaceful  wa 
ters  that  the  little  coral  insect  —  that  busy  artificer  —  rears 
its  gardens  and  cities  of  weird  loveliness,  but  amid  the  terri 
ble  breakers.  Silently,  quietly,  patiently  it  struggles  against 
the  mighty  element,  and  the  apparently  insignificant  poly 
pus,  so  minute  that  a  child's  foot  might  crush  a  million,  con 
quers  at  last,  by  the  force  of  its  living  energy,  the  terrible 
might  of  the  sea,  sustaining,  — 

"Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three-deckers'  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock !  " 

Slowly  her  patient  cheerfulness  interfused  a  warmth  into 
the  atmosphere  around  her.  Mrs.  "Wentworth  had  days, 
sometimes  weeks,  of  feeble  health ;  and  although  she  never 
complained,  and  never  asked  a  favor,  Sibyl  soon  found  out 
many  little  ways  of  serving  her  without  coming  in  contact 
with  her  prejudices,  until,  finally,  her  presence  in  the  par 
lor,  especially  evenings,  became  almost  indispensable. 

The  lady  did  not  care  much  for  books,  but  she  liked  the 


222  SIBYL. 

music  of  Sibyl's  voice ;  the  house  was  well  supplied  with 
the  periodical  literature  of  the  day,  and  it  soon  became 
quite  a  matter  of  indifference  to  Sibyl,  when  engaged  in  an 
article  of  Wilson,  or  Sydney  Smith,  whether  her  auditor 
was  awake  or  asleep.  But  she  sometimes  had  another  lis 
tener  ;  as  the  evenings  grew  long  and  cool,  Mr.  "Wentworth 
fell  into  the  habit  of  lingering  over  the  parlor  fire  long 
after  the  hour  usually  devoted  to  his  mother ;  and  upon  such 
occasions  Sibyl  would  have  suspended  her  reading,  but  Mrs. 
"VVentworth's  imperative  "  Go  on ;  my  son  Ernest  will  not 
mind  you,  Miss  Monroe,"  and  his  quiet  "  Don't  let  me  dis 
turb  you,"  left  her  no  choice. 

But  he  did  "  mind  "  her ;  or,  at  least,  what  she  read  ;  for 
not  unfrequently  the  book  or  newspaper  which  he  held  was 
suddenly  laid  aside,  and  he  would  startle  her  by  some  keen 
criticism,  or  suggestive  remark,  that  showed  he  had  been  a 
close  and  earnest  listener. 

Sometimes  these  remarks  took  the  form  of  a  query ;  and 
even  before  she  was  aware  of  it,  Sibyl  would  find  herself 
drawn  into  an  argument,  if  their  conversations  could  be 
called  such,  where  on  one  side  there  was  the  learning  and 
logic,  the  practised  skill  of  the  ready  debater,  and  on  the 
other  nothing  but  woman's  intuitive  perception  of  the  right, 
and  an  earnest  love  of  the  truth.  He  seemed  to  take  a  kind 
of  pleasure  in  drawing  out  her  opinions  upon  all  sorts  of 
subjects,  though  they  seldom  thought  alike ;  and  he,  in  the 
pride  of  his  intellect,  smiled  inwardly,  not  unfrequently 
openly,  at  the  logic  which  ended,  when  pushed  to  the  utter* 


PROGRESS    IN    ACQUAINTANCE.  223 

most,  in  the  simple  but  firm  "  I  know,"  of  what  was  to  him 
a  mere  blind  mysticism.  Yet  this  asseveration  often  re 
curred  to  him,  and  sometimes  he  could  not  help  asking 
himself  whether  the  mysticism  which  trusted  all  to  faith, 
was  not  better  than  the  atheism  that  doubted  all  things. 
Perhaps  it  was  better  that  she  could  not  argue,  for  men  like 
him  are  seldom  converted  by  mere  logic. 

But  if  he  could  not  shake  her  faith,  he  sometimes  suc 
ceeded  in  making  her  dissatisfied  with  herself;  sad  because 
she  could  not  give  a  better  reason  for  her  belief;  but  when 
she  spoke  of  this  to  old  Master  Fenn,  he  only  smiled  qui 
etly,  as  he  said, — 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  words,  Sibyl.  It  may  be, 
as  Ernest  says,  that  all  religious  experience  either  ends  in 
mysticism  or  atheism  ;  but  it  does  not  follow  we  are  to  give 
up  in  despair.  An  earnest  Christian  life  is  of  far  more 
value  than  all  the  systems  of  philosophy  and  theology  that 
ever  puzzled  the  brains  of  men  —  poor,  dry  husks,  at  best. 
Ernest  has  had  enough  of  such  fodder ;  what  he  needs  is 
life  —  a  life  informed  with  the  spirit  of  Him  who  said, 
'  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  all  the  rest 
shall  be  added  unto  you.'  " 

"  But  is  it  right  for  me  to  teach  his  child  things  which 
he  professes  to  disbelieve  ?  " 

"  Ask  him,"  was  the  old  man's  reply. 

She  did  ask  him ;  and  he,  after  hesitating  a  moment,  with 
a  kind  of  puzzled  air,  —  for  the  question  was  wholly  unex 
pected,  —  pointed  to  a  volume  of  Madame  Guyon's  Life, 


224  SIBYL. 

which  he  had  just  laid  down  with  an  acute  but  somewhat 
sarcastic  criticism,  and  said,  — 

"  I  would  rather  my  daughter  should  be  a  Guyon  than  a 
De  Stael.  Women  must  have  something  to  occupy  them, 
and  to  me  psalm-singing  is  preferable  to  politics." 

"  Unfortunately,  sir,  there  are  some  who  have  no  gifts 
for  either.  Is  there  no  alternative,  no  other  sphere  in  which 
they  may  be  useful  and  honorable  ?  " 

Sibyl  spoke  with  warmth,  and  he  noticed  her  flushed 
cheek  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Monroe.  I  have  spoken  hastily,  un 
justly.  I  know  that  there  are  such  —  women  who  neither 
wear  their  womanhood  as  a  weakness  of  which  they  are 
ashamed,  nor  a  penance  from  which  they  would  gladly  be 
absolved ;  who  are  neither  anxious  to  be  men  nor  angels, 
but  simply  women ;  and  I  am  grateful  for  the  knowledge. 
Teach  my  daughter  what  you  will ;  I  can  trust  you,  fully." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

FRED  MONROE  had  reached  his  majority ;  he  was  twenty- 
one  ;  and  the  Saturday  which  followed  this  important  event, 
when  he,  and  Sibyl,  and  little  Winnie,  all  met  at  Master 
Fenn's,  was  one  of  those  days  never  to  be  forgotten.  Very 
rich  they  were  with  their  plans  and  projects,  their  laughter 
and  merry  jokes ;  and  their  merriment  only  gathered  force 
when  grandmother  Mabel  occasionally  reproved  them  all, 
but  especially  Silence  and  Dick,  for  being  "such  children." 

Fred  was  to  be  Mr.  Wentworth's  foreman.  Did  not 
Sibyl  know  it  —  and  she  living  in  the  same  house  ? 

She  did  not  know  it,  but  the  prospect  was  not  less  pleas 
ant  ;  they  should  often  see  each  other,  and  they  should  en 
joy  that  so  much.  Sibyl  quite  forgot  Mrs.  Wentworth's 
stipulation  of  "  no  company ; "  indeed,  she  had  almost  for 
gotten  that  she  was  to  return  to  Rockville  that  night,  when 
she  was  reminded  of  it  by  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Wentworth 
himself  at  the  door.  He  wanted  "  to  see  Monroe,"  he  said, 
"  and  had  therefore  driven  down  for  them  himself." 

She  was  surprised  to  see  how  easily  he  took  the  tone  of 
the  company ;  it  seemed  so  odd  to  see  him  sitting  there, 
talking  so  familiarly  with  mother  Mabel  and  Miss  Silence 
15  (225> 


226  SIBYL. 

about  neighborhood  affairs  —  deaths,  funerals,  marriages, 
and  the  like.  It  was  a  new  phase  of  his  character  to  her, 
and  even  little  Winnie  felt  it ;  for  when,  in  reply  to  some 
remark  of  grandmother  Fenn  about  her,  he  drew  her  to 
him,  and  lifted  her  to  his  knee,  —  a  thing  which  Sibyl  never 
saw  him  do  before,  —  she  did  not  slide  away,  but  sat  there 
eating  a  piece  of  cake,  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  place 
in  the  world. 

Ay,  there  is  no  spell  like  simple  love  —  kind  words  and 
glances  —  to  exorcise  the  demon  of  unrest.  It  was  this 
element  —  the  weakness  of  love  and  tears,  which  Ernest 
Wentworth  so  much  despised  —  that  he  needed  most. 

Once  he  had  said  to  Winnie,  when  moved  by  some  child 
ish  grief,  — 

"  You  must  learn  self-control,  of  all  things,  child.  We 
must  have  none  of  this ;  it  is  weakness.  Miss  Monroe 
must  teach  you  to  overcome  it.  She  has  doubtless  found, 
by  this  time,  that  there  is  nothing  on  earth  worth  a  tear." 

"  You  mistake,"  Sibyl  had  said  ;  "  I  should  be  very  sorry 
indeed  to  have  learned  such  a  lesson." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Ernest,  looking  up,  in  some  surprise ; 
"  why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  the  experience  which  could  lead  to  such  a  re 
sult  must  be  a  very  sad  one,  or  sadly  misapprehended." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  thoughtfully,  as  she  sat  bend 
ing  over  his  child,  whom  she  had  taken  upon  her  knee,  and 
was  trying  to  soothe. 

"  It  may  be  you  are  right,"  he  said,  at  length ;  "  but  I 


PLEASANT    HOURS.  227 

think  I  have  the  verdict  of  experience  —  certainly  of  phi 
losophy  —  on  my  side." 

"  And  I  have  that  of  humanity  —  ay,  of  Christianity  —  on 
mine ;  the  example  of  one  before  the  light  of  whose  life 
and  teachings  all  philosophers  grow  dim ! "  and  opening  a 
Bible  that  lay  upon  the  table,  she  pointed  to  that  brief 
record  by  which,  for  so  many,  many  centuries,  suffering, 
sorrowing  humanity  has  claimed  fellowship  with  God  — 
"Jesus  wept." 

Perhaps  he  had  taken  the  lesson  home. 

Fred's  presence  in  Rockville  was  indeed  a  great  happi 
ness  to  Sibyl.  Not  that  they  spent  much  time  together,  for 
his  duties  occupied  most  of  his  time,  and  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  her  at  the  house  was  dampened  by  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Wentworth,  whose  hauteur  and  coldness  always  seemed 
to  freeze  him. 

But  it  was  pleasant  for  her  to  look  over  to  the  factories, 
and  know  he  was  there  ;  pleasant  to  look  up,  as  "Winnie  and 
she  passed  the  windows,  and  catch  his  ready  bow  and  happy 
smile ;  to  have  him  join  them  sometimes  upon  Saturday 
afternoons ;  to  walk  back  and  forth  to  church  with  him ; 
but  pleasantest  of  all,  the  Sundays  they  sometimes  spent 
together  at  Master  Fenn's,  walking  to  church  with  the  old 
man,  and  making  long  detours  on  their  way  home,  to  visit 
the  resorts  of  their  childhood. 

The  old  Monroe  farm  had  been  sold — sold  to  pay  the 
debts,  Mrs.  Polly  had  said,  and  she  had  removed  to  her  broth 
er's.  They  did  not  care  to  enter  there,  to  meet  strange  faces, 


228  SIBYL. 

but  they  seldom  returned  to  their  weekly  duties  without  a 
glimpse  of  the  great  granite  face;  and  sometimes  they 
looked  in  at  Culver's,  where,  since  Amanda  had  learned  a 
trade,  and  spent  most  of  her  time  from  home,  the  old  chaos 
reigned  triumphant. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  they  found  Amanda  at  home. 
She  was  delighted  to  see  them,  and  yet  evidently  ashamed 
that  there  was  scarcely  a  chair  empty,  that  she  could  offer 
them  a  seat. 

Sibyl  soon  drew  her  without  the  doors,  and  while  Fred 
and  Mr.  Culver  loitered  behind,  talking  over  the  changes  at 
the  old  place,  she  drew  from  her  an  avowal  of  the  truth  of 
a  rumor  which  had  recently  reached  her  —  that  Amanda 
was  about  to  marry  a  wealthy,  but  peevish,  ill-tempered  old 
man,  much  older  than  her  own  father. 

At  first,  the  girl,  while  she  acknowledged  the  truth, 
seemed  inclined  to  make  fun  of  the  whole  affair  ;  for  when 
Sibyl  urged  that  she  could  not  love  this  person,  she  laughed 
heartily  at  the  idea  of  any  one's  loving  old  John  Stephens, 
but  said  that  he  was  rich ;  had  a  nice,  new  house  ;  had 
bought  a  horse  and  carriage  recently,  on  purpose  to  please 
her ;  and  went  on  with  a  ludicrous  description  of  how  she 
should  manage  the  house,  and  the  horse,  and  the  man,  of 
whom  she  evidently  thought  least. 

But  her  gayety  seemed  rather  forced,  and  when  Sibyl 
persisted  in  showing  her  the  wrong  of  such  a  proceeding, 
she  said,  impatiently, — 

"Pshaw,  Sibyl!  that's  all  nonsense.     Aunt   Sarah  says 


TALK     ON     MARRIAGE.  229 

after  a  little  while  it  makes  no  difference  who  a  woman 
marries,  so  long  as  it  is  somebody  who  can  support  her 
handsomely ;  and  as  to  its  being  wrong,  every  body  does  it. 
Why,  there's  Maria  Hollis  —  you  know  Deacon  Hollis's 
Maria  —  only  last  week  she  married  Mr.  Haverstraw. 
He's  thirty  years  older  than  she,  and  a  Universalist  at  that 
—  and  she  a  church  member !  But  he's  rich,  and  every 
body  says  that  it's  doing  well  for  Maria." 

"  Not  every  body,  for  I  don't,  Amanda.  I  can't  believe 
that  it  does  not  make  a  difference  to  a  woman  whom  she 
marries,  and  I  think  you  and  Maria  will  both  find  out  your 
mistake,  in  time.  Then  you  are  so  lively,  so  fond  of  society, 
of  dancing,  and  all  sorts  of  amusements  !  What  will  you 
do  with  that  old  man  ?  He  cannot  go  out  with  you,  and 
you  will  find  that  you  cannot  manage  him  as  easily  as  you 
think.  There  can  be  nothing  but  discord  in  such  a  home, 
Amanda." 

Amanda  did  not  reply  at  once.  She  broke  a  spray  of 
goldenrod  from  a  feathery  stalk  of  that  plant  near  by, 
for  they  had  paused  by  a  gateway,  and  busied  herself  in 
picking  it  to  pieces ;  and  when  she  looked  up,  her  round, 
black  eyes,  usually  so  sharp  and  bold,  were  full  of  tears. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Sibyl,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  If 
I  really  thought  it  would  be  as  you  say  —  But  then  it 
can't  be  worse  than  it  is  at  home.  You  know  how  that  is  — 
noise,  and  confusion,  and  dirt ;  it  ain't  of  no  use  to  try  to 
help  it ;  I'm  tired  of  that.  Sometimes  I  stay  at  home  a 
whole  week,  and  get  the  house  decent ;  but  when  I  come 


230  SIBYL. 

home  the  next  Saturday  night,  tired  to  death  with  dragging 
round  from  house  to  house,  and  sewing  all  the  week,  it's 
just  as  bad  as  ever.  Then  there  are  so  many  of  us  —  so 
many  to  want,  and  so  little  to  get  with  —  that  it  sometimes 
seems  as  if  I  might  help  the  others  by  going.  At  least, 
they  would  have  more  room,  and  one's  room  is  sometimes 
better  than  one's  company." 

Sibyl  sighed,  for  she  knew  that  there  was  much  truth  in 
what  the  girl  said ;  yet  she  felt  convinced  that  the  contem 
plated  change  could  only  end  in  worse  misery,  and  she  was 
about  to  urge  this  point  again,  when  the  girl  started,  and 
dashing  the  drops  from  her  eyes,  said,  — 

"  See  !  here  come  father  and  Fred ;  don't  say  any  thing 
about  it  before  them." 

When  Sibyl  next  met  her,  she  was  the  wife  of  John 
Stephens  —  had  escaped  from  one  discordant,  over-crowded 
home,  to  entail  the  same  or  a  worse  misery  upon  herself 
and  others. 

"  Why  did  they  marry  thus  ?  "  was  the  query  put  to  a 
lady  who  was  bewailing  the  unhappy  domestic  relations  of 
some  friends  of  hers. 

"  Because  they  were  the  eldest  of  a  large  family,  where 
the  means  were  small,  and  the  wants  many,  and  those  be 
hind  them  crowded,"  was  the  reply. 

And  thus  we  have  wives  who  disgrace  their  womanhood 
by  the  assertion  that  it  makes  no  difference  to  whom  they 
give  themselves,  so  long  as  they  get  a  good  bargain ;  others, 
who,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  fall  a  prey  to  the  demon  hys- 


THE     DRUMMONDS.  231 

}eria,  or  grow  morbid  over  some  gloomy  religious  creed, 
making  of  life  one  long,  dreary  penance,  rather  than  a  glori 
ous  march,  whose  battles  are  best  fought  to  the  music  of 
sweet  household  songs,  whose  wayside  God  himself  has 
edged  with  the  flames  of  love  and  joy. 

But  Sibyl  had  little  time  to  sorrow  over  Amanda.  Mrs. 
Wentworth's  brother's  widow,  with  her  daughter,  Miss 
Agnes  Drummond,  arrived  there  on  a  visit,  with  the  inten 
tion  of  taking  a  house  in  the  village,  should  the  air  not 
prove  too  bracing  for  the  elder  lady's  health.  Miss  Agnes 
was  a  beauty  and  a  wit,  and  Sibyl  was  surprised  at  the 
cool  nonchalance  with  which  she  set  aside  such  of  Mrs. 
Wentworth's  regulations  as  did  not  suit  her  convenience, 
particularly  at  the  easy,  assured  manner  with  which  she 
commanded  Mr.  Wentworth's  attentions,  as  well  as  the 
readiness  with  which  he  replied  to  her  gay  sallies  and 
repartees ;  and  yet  she  was  rather  glad  than  otherwise 
that  he  never  took  that  tone  towards  her. 

She  thought  to  confine  herself  to  her  own  rooms  more ; 
as,  at  the  mother's  suggestion,  Miss  Agnes  relieved  her  of 
the  task  of  reading  to  Mrs.  Wentworth ;  but  she  soon  found 
this  was  not  to  be.  Miss  Agnes  might  get  weary ;  or,  as 
she  was  fond  of  singing,  and  quite  a  brilliant  pianist,  as  far 
as  mere  execution  went,  she  might  require  Sibyl's  alto 
to  relieve  her  powerful  and  richly  cultured  soprano,  and 
it  may  have  been  possible  that  the  young  lady  was  not  un 
mindful  of  the  fine  foil  which  Sibyl's  slender  figure  and 
pale  face  made  for  her  rich  and  glowing  style  of  beauty. 


232  SIBYL. 

It  might  be  that  she  fancied  her  cousin.  Ernest  thought 
so  too,  when  she  caught,  as  she  sometimes  did,  his  eye 
fixed  earnestly  upon  them.  She  was  not  unkind  to  Sibyl 
—  on  the  contrary,  she  always  praised  her  —  praised  her 
drawing,  her  singing,  her  playing,  but  always  in  that  tone 
of  pitying  condescension  which  in  some  moods  is  so  much 
harder  to  bear  than  the  severest  censure. 

And  Sibyl's  mood  was  none  of  the  happiest  just  then. 
She  seldom  saw  Fred  since  the  Drummonds  came.  Not 
that  he  failed  to  call  as  usual,  but  she  was  almost  always 
occupied ;  and  this  unusual  tax  upon  her  time,  which  their 
presence  imposed,  together  with  the  wet  autumn  weather, 
prevented  her  extending  her  walks  with  Winnie  beyond 
the  garden.  Every  thing  tended  to  make  her  feel  restless 
and  dissatisfied  with  herself;  and  loss  of  self-confidence  is 
always  such  a  miserable  feeling. 

"  Our  little  friend  looks  more  than  usually  pale  and  dis 
pirited  to-night,  cousin,"  said  Miss  Drummond,  one  even 
ing.  "  If  it  were  not  for  that  knot  of  rose-colored  ribbon 
which  she  wears,  she  would  be  as  neutral  in  tint  as  her 
gray  merino  dress.  I  do  wish  she  would  be  a  little  more 
animated ;  melancholy  people  distress  me." 

u  Miss  Monroe  is  usually  quite  the  reverse  of  that,"  re 
turned  the  gentleman,  looking  up  from  his  book  with  a 
glance  at  Sibyl.  "  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  admire  her 
unvarying  cheerfulness.  I  think  she  cannot  be  well  to 
night." 

"•  Perhaps   she  is   suffering   from  some  hidden  grief," 


MANOEUVRES     AND      MUSIC.  233 

said  the  lady,  lightly  running  her  fingers  over  the  keys  of 
the  piano,  at  which  she  was  sitting  —  "some  quarrel  with 
her  lover  —  that  interesting  looking  employe  of  yours  who 
calls  here  occasionally." 

"  O,  Monroe  —  he  is  her  cousin  ! "  and  the  gentleman 
again  took  up  his  book. 

The  lady  laughed. 

"  Not  within  the  forbidden  degree,  I  sincerely  trust,  for 
her  sake,  poor  thing ! " 

He  did  not  reply,  and  Miss  Agnes  turned  again  to  the  in 
strument,  and  struck  into  one  of  Strauss's  brilliant  waltzes. 
The  movement  had  the  anticipated  effect  —  the  book  was 
laid  aside,  and  her  cousin  remained  near  her  a  pleased 
listener,  while  she  gave  him  piece  after  piece  of  fashionable 
music  with  a  brilliancy  of  execution  that  seemed  to  Sibyl 
like  magic.  As  she  turned  from  the  instrument  with  a 
yawn,  Mr.  "Wentworth  crossed  the  room  to  the  table  where 
the  governess  usually  chose  her  seat,  a  little  aside  from  the 
rest,  and  asked,  — 

"Are  you  ill,  Sibyl?" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  any  one  in  the  house  had 
ever,  addressed  her  by  that  name,  and  the  tears  that  had 
been  stirred  by  the  music  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

He  assumed  not  to  see  them,  but  went  on  in  the  same 
low  tone. 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  a  favor.  It  is,  if  you  feel  able, 
that  you  should  play  for  me,  once  more,  "  Thou  art  the 
Rest."  It  will  be  particularly  grateful  after  the  brilliant 


234  SIBYL. 

compositions  with  which  Miss  Drummond  has  treated 
us." 

Seating  herself  at  the  piano,  Sibyl  sang  her  old  favorite, 
and,  as  usual,  found  comfort  in  the  act.  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Drummond  were  loud  in  their  praise,  but  Mr.  "Wentworth's 
simple  "  I  thank  you "  overtopped  them  all,  and  lingered 
longest  in  her  heart. 

Perhaps  that  gentleman  really  felt  then  the  need  of 
some  rest  beside  that  which  the  world  gives ;  for,  long 
after  the  family  had  separated  for  the  night,  he  continued 
to  walk  his  room  in  deep  thought.  At  length  he  seated 
himself  at  the  table,  and  with  a  half  smile  on  his  lip,  as  if 
in  scorn  of  himself,  he  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  to  him,  and 
seizing  a  pen,  wrote  rapidly. 

"  It  must  be  so,"  he  muttered,  as  he  folded  the  letter. 
"  It's  well  to  know  it  now !  What  fools  men  are ! " 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"  SIBYL,  my  child." 

She  was  crossing  the  hall  when  she  caught  the  words, 
and  sprang  forward  to  meet  Master  Richard  Fenn,  who 
had  just  entered,  and  stood  there,  shaking  the  snow  from 
the  capes  of  his  old-fashioned  great  coat.  She  was  about 
to  lead  him  to  the  parlor,  where  the  family  were  gathered ; 
but  he  checked  her,  saying,  — 

"  Take  me  to  your  school  room,  Sibyl.  I  do  not  care  to 
see  Mrs.  Wentworth  just  now." 

She  gave  one  glance  at  his  face ;  there  was  a  something 
there  that  chilled  her  gladness,  and  leading  him  to  the 
room,  she  sat  down  beside  him,  saying,  — 

"You  have  something  sad  to  tell  me,  Master  Fenn. 
What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  have,  dear.     Your  father  is  dead." 

She  did  not  speak  but  looked  a  moment  in  his  face, 
and  then,  laying  her  head  on  his  knee,  as  she  had  when  a 
child,  wept  silently. 

"  Tell  me  all  —  how  was  it  ?  "  she  said,  at  length. 

He  placed  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  It  is  from  your  brother,  Sibyl,  and  addressed  to  me. 

(235) 


236  SIBYL. 

You  will  see  he  writes  hurriedly  —  like  one  who  hardly 
realizes  that  of  which  he  speaks." 

She  read  the  letter  through  her  falling  tears.  It  con 
tained  little  beside  the  announcement  of  her  father's  death, 
which  had  occurred  suddenly,  a  short  time  before,  and  a 
request  that  Master  Richard  would  break  the  news  to  Sibyl, 
and  say  to  her  that  his  mother  and  himself  would  be  with 
her  in  the  spring ;  that  as  soon  as  his  mother  felt  able,  she 
would  write  her  more  fully ;  with  usual  expressions  of 
attachment,  &c. 

It  was  well  worded,  and  the  chirography  beautiful ;  but 
there  was  such  a  cool,  matter-of-fact,  business-like  tone  about 
it,  that  Sibyl  felt  doubly  orphaned ;  and  she  laid  it  down 
with  almost  a  groan. 

The  old  man  understood  the  feeling,  and  tried  to  excuse 
the  cause. 

"  Poor  boy  ! "  he  said,  "  he  finds  it  hard  to  realize  the 
truth.  It  is  hard  for  the  wisest  of  us  ;  much  more  so  for  a 
boy  like  him  !  " 

But  Sibyl  was  soon  called  upon  to  act.  A  letter  from 
her  mother  was  not  long  in  following  this,  full  of  weak, 
sorrowful  repinings,  and  throwing  the  burden  of  all  their 
future  arrangements  upon  her. 

"  Willie  will  never  be  contented  in  the  country  ;  that  is 
certain,  Sibyl ;  and  I  trust  you  will  exert  yourself  to  get 
him  some  nice  situation  in  the  city.  He  would  prefer  New 
York.  Perhaps  this  Mr.  "Wentworth  of  whom  you  speak 
may  be  able  to  assist  him.  As  for  you  and  me,  if  we 


ELSIE     COMING     BACK.  237 

cannot  be  with  him,  —  which  he  seems  to  think  impossible, 
—  it  is  little  matter  where  we  are.  Rockville  will  do  as 
well  as  any  place,  for  I  have  no  ambition  left." 

But  to  get  that  place.  Sibyl  opened  her  desk,  and 
looked  long  at  the  figures  in  her  bank  book  that  indicated 
the  sum,  which,  by  rigid  self-denial,  she  had  been  able  to 
lay  aside  during  the  past  year.  It  was  a  small  pittance  at 
best,  to  provide  house  and  furniture  and  the  various  et  cceteras 
of  housekeeping;  and  then,  what  should  she  do?  For  of 
course,  her  situation  as  governess  must  be  given  up. 

As  usual,  in  all  her  troubles,  she  went  to  the  Fenns,  and 
laid  her  perplexities  before  them. 

Master  Richard  waited  until  Miss  Silence  and  mother 
Mabel  had  had  their  say.  It  was  a  habit  he  had ;  and  in 
this  case  it  did  not  take  them  long,  for  they  were  completely 
nonplussed  by  Sibyl's  constant  assertion  that  her  mother's 
assistance  was  not  to  be  counted  upon  at  all.  They  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  a  woman  who  was  "  wholly  helpless," 
and  gave  the  matter  up. 

Master  Fenn  suggested  that  Sibyl  should  take  a  small 
house  in  Rockville,  and  open  a  school  for  young  girls. 
There  were  always  enough  ready  to  patronize  a  good  school 
in  a  manufacturing  village,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  given 
satisfaction  as  governess  at  Mr.  "Wentworth's  would  be  a 
sufficient  recommendation. 

"But  how  am  I  to  meet  all  the  first  expenses  —  the 
furnishing  and  fitting  up  ?  I  have  but " 

"  There,  there's  what  will  do  it,  Sibyl ! "  and  Fred  Mon- 


238  SIBYL. 

roe  sprang  into  the  room,  and  flung  an  official-looking 
document  into  Sibyl's  lap. 

"  You  didn't  know  that  I  was  listening  in  the  old  kitchen 
all  this  time,  just  to  pay  you  off  for  running  down  here 
without  saying  a  word  to  me  ?  I  haven't  been  to  see  you 
for  some  days,  because  I  was  waiting  for  that,"  —  he  pointed 
to  the  paper, —  "and  I  wanted  to  surprise  you.  To-day, 
when  Mr.  "Wentworth  gave  it  me,  I  ran  right  down  to  the 
house  as  soon  as  I  could  get  away,  and  you  were  gone ;  so  I 
asked  leave  of  absence  this  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Wentworth 
gave  it.  It's  all  his  doings,  Sibyl.  I  never  should  have 
got  the  patent  if  he  had  not  taken  the  matter  in  hand. 
There  was  a  Vermont  man  who  disputed  my  claim,  and  I 
had  about  given  up  ;  but  he  took  the  matter  up,  wrote  lots 
of  letters,  and  there  is  the  result.  God  bless  him !  " 

There  was  a  hearty  response  to  Fred's  words,  and  then 
they  examined  the  magic  paper  that  was  to  bring  wealth 
and  fame  to  Fred,  while  he  stood  a  little  apart,  striving  to 
take  the  whole  thing  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  it  would 
not  do ;  for  he  tossed  on  his  cap,  and  burst  into  a  merry- 
laugh,  saying  to  Sibyl,  as  he  flung  a  shawl  over  her 
shoulders,  — 

"  I  can't  stand  it,  Sibyl.  It  seems  so  odd  to  hear  you 
talking  about  my  being  rich.  It  would  seem  a  great  deal 
more  natural  for  us  to  go  down  to  the  old  corner  walnut 
tree,  and  sit  down  there  to  count  up  our  shillings,  as  we 
used  to.  I  dare  say  the  sun  has  melted  the  snow  from  the 
south  side  of  the  tree  now.  Get  your  bonnet,  and  let's  go 
down  there  once  more." 


MORE      CHANGES.  239 

It  was  a  cold,  bright  day  in  February,  but  the  noonday 
sun  had  tempered  the  keen  air  of  the  morning,  until  it 
seemed  to  have  in  it  a  touch  of  spring.  The  snow  lay  deep 
and  white,  almost  to  the  hill  tops ;  but  Fred  and  Sibyl 
cared  little  for  the  cold  and  snow.  They  had  warmth 
enough  in  their  hearts  to  thaw  old  Winter  himself,  and  they 
wandered  over  the  scenes  of  their  early  days  with  many  a 
laugh,  until  they  stood  before  the  white,  snow-crowned  head 
of  their  old  granite  friend.  Then  they  were  silent ;  and 
when  Fred  turned  his  face  towards  his  companion,  it  had 
something  of  the  old  sorrowful  look  it  wore  the  first  time 
they  stood  there  together. 

Did  a  shadow  from  the  unseen  future  fall  across  his 
heart  ? 


Mrs.  Wentworth  did  not  like  changes.  Sibyl  had 
become,  in  a  measure,  necessary  to  her ;  and  it  is  so  difficult 
for  some  natures  to  forget  that  they  do  not  own  people  ! 
Therefore,  when  Sibyl  notified  her  that  she  should  leave  at 
the  end  of  the  present  term,  she  was  both  surprised  and 
offended.  But  she  was  too  proud  to  expostulate,  or  refer  to 
the  matter  at  all,  beyond  the  remark  that  she  thought  it  a 
much  wiser  plan  for  her  mother  to  board ;  but  she  made 
Sibyl  feel  her  mood  by  refusing  all  the  little  attentions  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  receive  from  her,  with  a  cool  — 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  Miss  Monroe.  People  must 
learn  to  depend  on  themselves,  I  find." 

The  girl  felt  this  all  the  more  keenly,  because  she  often 


240  SIBYL. 

accepted  those  very  attentions  from  Miss  Drummond.  Sibyl 
was  very  human,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  she  would 
much  rather  any  one  else  had  superseded  her  than  Miss 
Agnes.  She  did  not  ask  herself  why ;  she  might  not  have 
been  able  to  tell,  had  she  done  so ;  for  the  secrets  of  the 
heart  want  some  sudden  shock  to  bring  them  to  the  light, 
just  as  the  precious  stones  of  earth  are  thrown  out  by  the 
convulsions  of  nature. 

The  last  weeks  of  her  stay  there  passed  heavily  and 
slowly.  She  felt  vexed  and  dissatisfied  with  herself  that 
the  anticipated  arrival  of  her  mother  and  brother  did  not 
fill  her  with  more  joy.  Most  of  her  time  was  spent  with 
"Winnie,  in  trying  to  reconcile  her  to  the  proposed  change  — 
no  easy  task ;  for  under  that  timid  air  the  child  concealed 
much  of  the  strong  feeling  of  her  family,  and  her  attach 
ment  to  Sibyl  was  very  warm.  Sometimes  she  walked  out, 
but  only  to  come  back  more  depressed ;  for  there  was  noth 
ing  in  the  weary,  wet,  unstable  March  weather  to  cheer  or 
enliven  her ;  no  keen,  bright  frosts  to  freshen  the  air  and 
give  new  life  to  the  overtasked  nerves ;  no  fresh,  crispy 
snow  to  suggest  strong  and  cheerful  thoughts ;  only  dirty, 
ragged  strips  lying  here  and  there,  in  the  corners  of  the 
fences,  making  the  wet  earth  look  more  forlorn,  and  the 
gray  sky  still  more  cheerless. 

It  was  quite  time  for  Sibyl  to  go.  Master  Richard  felt 
this  when  he  came  for  her  one  morning  ;  and  he  seriously 
questioned  himself  as  to  whether  there  had  not  been  some 
thing  of  selfishness  in  the  feelings  with  which  he  had 


FURNISHING     THE     HOME.  241 

marked  her  influence  over  the  proud  Wentworths  ;  whether, 
in  his  interest  in  them,  he  had  not  forgotten  that  she  might 
starve  there  for  lack  of  human  sympathy. 

It  was  well  for  her  that  there  was  so  much  to  be  done  — 
so  much  planning  in  the  way  of  furnishing  and  providing  ; 
well  for  her  that  in  these  matters  she  had  the  long  expe 
rience  and  good  sense  of  mother  Mabel  and  Miss  Silence  to 
rely  upon ;  for  Master  Richard's  wisdom  in  such  affairs  did 
not  much  exceed  that  of  herself  and  Fred,  and  the  list  of 
necessaries  which  they  made  out  was  much  better  propor 
tioned  to  their  wants  than  their  means. 

Miss  Silence's  keen  eye  soon  riddled  this  list ;  and  it  was 
doubly  well  for  them  that  they  could  laugh  so  heartily  as 
she  drew  her  pen  across  each  superfluous  article,  with  the 
remark,  — 

"  Look  to  the  end,  children.  '  What  man,  intending  to 
build  a  house,  sitteth  not  down  first  and  counteth  the  cost, 
whether  he  have  sufficient  to  finish  it  or  not  ? '  You'll  be 
on  the  town  at  this  rate." 

More  than  once  her  plaid  flannel  dress  was  exchanged 
for  a  black  merino,  her  sun  bonnet  for  a  straw  of  the  finest, 
whitest  braid,  the  product  of  her  own  bony  fingers,  to  ac 
company  Sibyl  on  shopping  expeditions  to  Eltham  or  Rock- 
ville ;  and  more  than  once  the  latter  had  occasion  to  admire 
her  judgment  and  forethought. 

Sometimes  Fred  slipped  away,  and  joined  them  for  a  few 
moments,  ostensibly  to  give  his  opinion  of  the  colors  of  a 
carpet  or  the  position  of  a  table,  but  really  to  slip  into 
16 


242  SIBYL. 

Miss  Silence's  hand  his  mite  towards  the  plenishing ;  and 
sometimes  they  met  Mrs.  and  Miss  Drummond,  who  were 
engaged  in  the  like  occupation,  having  taken  a  house  there ; 
and  the  elder  lady,  forgetful  of  Sibyl's  "  ungrateful  con 
duct,"  as  she  termed  it,  in  leaving  her  sister,  "  especially 
when  the  latter  had  condescended  to  tolerate  her  —  the 
daughter  of  the  man  who  had  ruined  them,"  condescended 
herself  to  make  inquiries  into  her  affairs  which  were  at 
times  almost  too  much  for  Miss  Silence's  patience,  and  to 
offer  her  advice  as  to  what  was  "  proper  for  people  in  Sibyl's 
position,"  while  the  daughter  chatted  in  a  friendly  way  with 
Sibyl,  never  failing  to  allude  to  the  new  governess  she 
had  procured  for  Winnie  ;  feeling  assured,  she  said,  that 
"  Miss  Monroe  would  be  delighted  to  know  that  she  gave 
such  satisfaction  —  was  such  a  favorite  with  her  aunt  and 
cousin  Ernest." 

"  And  Winnie  —  is  she  pleased  with  her  ? "  asked 
Sibyl. 

"  O,  Winnie  is  but  a  child,  you  know ;  besides,  she  is 
capricious  in  her  likes  and  dislikes  —  somewhat  like  her 
father,  I  think.  Do  you  know,  when  you  were  there  I 
used  sometimes  to  think  you  quite  a  favorite  with  cousin 
Ernest,  if  one  may  use  that  word  in  speaking  of  him ;  then 
again  he  did  not  seem  conscious  that  there  was  such  a 
person  in  the  house.  It  must  have  been  very  annoying. 
I  wonder  how  you  bore  it.  I  am  sure  I  used  to  pity  you 
sometimes." 

"  I   was    there   as    Miss   Winnie's    governess.      In    that 


FURNISHING     THE     HOME.  243 

capacity  I  had  nothing  of  which  to  complain,"  was  the  quiet 
reply. 

There  was  only  one  point  in  the  matter  of  furnishing 
upon  which  Sibyl  and  Miss  Silence  differed.  Sibyl  remem 
bered  her  mother's  love  of  the  luxurious,  and  insisted  on 
furnishing  the  bedroom  designed  for  her,  and  the  parlor  ad 
joining,  in  a  style  quite  different  from  the  rest  of  the  house. 

"  But  what  will  you  put  in  your  own  room  ?  "  asked  the 
good  woman  somewhat  impatiently,  one  day,  after  listening 
to  Sibyl's  reasons  why  a  carpet  of  superior  texture  and 
beauty  must  be  purchased  for  these  rooms.  "  If  you  buy 
this,  you  will  have  to  go  without  yourself." 

"  O,  no  matter  about  my  room.  I  can  get  along  any  way 
for  the  present.  A  bit  of  striped  cotton  —  any  thing  will 
do  ;  but  mamma  is  so  different  from  me  !  " 

Miss  Silence  said  nothing  further ;  but  that  night,  as  she 
sat  alone  with  mother  Mabel,  giving  her  an  account  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  day,  she  shook  her  head  very  gravely  as 
she  said, — 

"  I  don't  know,  mother  —  but  there  are  some  folks  in  this 
world  so  entirely  useless  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
them — what  they  are  permitted  to  live  for;  and  Sibyl's 
mother  must  be  one  of  them." 

"  But  the  Lord  may,  Silence,"  said  the  sightless  mother, 
reprovingly. 

"  I  hope  he  does  —  I  really  hope  he  does,  mother  ;  but 
I  am  sometimes  wicked  enough  to  doubt  it." 

The  house  was  at  last  in  readiness,  and  Sibyl  felt  both 


244  SIBYL. 

proud  and  gratified  as  she  walked  through  the  rooms  with 
Miss  Silence  and  Fred ;  for  it  was  the  home  that  her  own 
hands  had  provided  for  her  mother.  But  her  enthusiasm 
did  not  equal  that  of  her  companions.  She  felt  the  contrast 
between  this  humble  home  and  the  one  in  which  she  had 
last  seen  her  mother  too  vividly  to  anticipate  much  of  a 
surprise. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  So  you  knew  me,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  are  like  your  father,  Sibyl.  You  have  his 
mouth  and  eyes.  I  never  used  to  think  you  like  him  at  all ; 
but  you  are.  I  see  the  resemblance  more  and  more  every 
time  I  look  at  you." 

"  I  must  have  changed  a  great  deal  since  you  last  saw 
me,  mamma ;  but  I  should  have  known  you  any  where, 
even  if  I  had  only  had  a  glimpse  of  this  hand,  I  think ; " 
and  Sibyl  raised  the  delicate  fingers  to  her  lips. 

They  were  sitting  in  Mrs.  Monroe's  room,  at  the  Carlton 
House,  New  York,  and  there  were  tears  on  the  cheeks  of 
both  ;  for  they  had  been  speaking  of  the  dead  husband  and 
father ;  but  there  was  a  faint  smile  on  the  mother's  face,  as 
she  said,  in  reply  to  her  daughter's  remark,  — 

"  Am  I  indeed  so  little  changed,  Sibyl  ?  It  seems 
scarcely  possible,  for  I  have  suffered  so  much !  I  did  not 
think  any  one  could  suffer  what  I  have  and  live.  To  be 
left  alone  in  a  city  like  Paris,  as  I  was  !  " 

"  But  you  had  Willie,  mamma." 

"  Yes  —  the  dear  boy.  I  should  have  died  if  it  had  not 
been  for  him.  Indeed,  I  did  have  serious  thoughts  of  en- 

(245) 


246  SIBYL. 

tering  a  convent  at  one  time.  I  was  so  tired  of  every 
thing." 

"  It  was  much  better  to  come  home,  and  try  to  do  your 
duty,  mamma." 

"  That  is  so  like  your  father,  Sibyl ;  as  he  used  to  talk 
when  I  first  knew  him.  It  has  been  a  comfort  to  me  to 
know  that  you  possessed  his  strong,  self-reliant  spirit,  which 
is  so  independent  of  love  or  sympathy." 

"  Then  you  did  think  of  me  sometimes,  mamma?" 

The  flash  of  interest  that  lighted  up  the  daughter's  face 
might  have  taught  the  widowed  mother  that  if  she  did  com 
mand  this  mood  of  mind,  it  was  the  guerdon  of  patience 
and  suffering,  rather  than  the  gift  of  nature. 

She  did  not  see  this,  however ;  yet  her  next  words 
brought  a  thrill  of  sorrowful  kind  of  pleasure  to  her  child's 
heart,  for  it  was  this  :  — 

"  Yes,  Sibyl ;  I  could  not  help  it,  for  your  father  fretted 
about  you  constantly  in  his  last  illness,  because  we  had  not 
written  to  you  oftener.  He  knew  there  was  little  to  write 
about ;  that  you  were  happy  with  your  friends  —  better  off 
than  you  could  be  with  us ;  but  it  was  no  use  telling  him 
this.  He  was  a  little  deranged,  I  think.  It  was  very  try 
ing,  indeed.  I  don't  know,  as  I  say,  how  I  ever  bore  it. 
Your  friends  were  very  kind  to  you  down  there,  of  course, 
child  ?  " 

"  Many  people  have  been  kind  to  me,  mamma.  I  have 
some  excellent  friends  down  there ;  not  very  fashionable  or 
elegant,  but  clear  headed  and  warm  hearted.  One  of  them, 


MOTHER     AND     DAUGHTER.  247 

as  I  told  you  before,  is  waiting  below  to  see  you  —  papa's 
old  friend,  Master  Richard  Fenn.  He  remembers  you  as  a 
bride,  mamma,  though  I  suppose  you  have  forgotten  him. 
"Will  you  go  down  now  ?  " 

Elsie  looked  at  her  watch.  "  I  wish  "Willie  would  come 
in,"  she  observed,  anxiously.  "  He  has  been  out  since 
breakfast;  I  want  you  to  see  him  so  much ;  but  some  of  his 
old  friends  keep  him,  I  suppose.  They  kept  him  last  night 
until  quite  late ;  but  then  he  is  always  such  a  favorite. 
You  will  be  proud  of  him,  Sibyl." 

"  I  am  very  anxious  to  see  him  —  so  is  Master  Fenn. 
He  has  a  situation,  or  the  promise  of  one,  for  him,  I  be 
lieve." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that ;  but  I  hope  it  will  be  easy  and  pleas 
ant,  he  is  so  particular.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  parting 
with  him." 

Her  distress  touched  Sibyl,  and  she  began  to  speak  of  a 
situation  for  him  in  Rockville;  but  her  mother  interrupted 
her. 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  Sibyl ;  at  least,  not  to  him.  He  hates 
the  country;  we  must  make  some  allowances  for  him,  after 
Paris.  Besides,  he  has  been  quite  low-spirited  of  late,  and 
would  die  of  ennui  down  there.  "We  must  not  think  of  it. 
I  only  wish  we  could  live  here ;  but  I  suppose  that  can 
not  be." 

"  Not  at  present,  mamma." 

They  went  down  and  met  Master  Fenn.  Sibyl  was 
pleased  to  see  that  the  old  man's  kind  greeting  and  affoc- 


248  SIBYL. 

tionate  allusions  to  her  father  were  not  lost  upon  her  mother. 
He  spoke  of  Willie,  and,  while  he  did  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  he  considered  a  situation  near  them  in  the  country 
much  the  best  for  a  youth  like  him,  he  added,  that  in  ac 
cordance  with  her  wish,  he  had  spoken  to  an  acquaintance  of 
his,  a  former  partner  in  business  of  James  Hungerford,  her 
husband's  relative,  and  he  had  promised  him  a  clerkship  in 
his  store.  While  they  were  yet  speaking,  Willie  entered. 
He  was,  indeed,  very  handsome,  but  so  much  older  in 
look  and  manner  than  Sibyl  anticipated,  that  the  discrepancy 
troubled  her.  Pie  greeted  her  with  the  ease  and  self-pos 
session  of  the  man  of  the  world  ;  there  was  nothing  to  com 
plain  of  in  his  words  or  manner ;  and  yet,  when  she  con 
trasted  him  with  Fred,  and  thought  of  Fred's  guileless, 
open,  intelligent  face,  and  warm,  impulsive  manner,  she  felt 
troubled. 

She  forgot  that  in  large  cities,  like  Paris,  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  youth,  in  our  acceptance  of  the  word,  especially 
in  the  society  in  which  her  brother  had  mingled. 

Master  Richard  soon  recurred  to  the  topic  upon  which 
they  had  been  speaking,  and  Willie,  thanking  him  for  his 
efforts,  professed  himself  anxious  to  see  the  gentleman  to 
whom  he  had  so  kindly  recommended  him. 

"  Not  recommended ;  that  is  just  what  I  could  not  do," 
said  the  old  man  pleasantly.  "  But  my  friend  has  prom 
ised  the  situation  on  your  good  behavior." 

The  youth  laughed. 

"  I  forgot ;    pardon  me.     But  if  recommendations  are 


A     SITUATION     FOR     AVILLIE.  249 

wanted,  I  have  one  from  the  firm  of  Le  Clerc  &  Dupont, 
•with  whom  I  was  in  Paris." 

"  Did  they  give  you  a  recommendation,  Willie  ?  "  said  the 
mother.  "  You  never  spoke  of  it  to  me." 

"  I  never  thought  it  necessary,  madam,"  was  his  reply. 
Then  turning  to  Master  Fenn,  he  added,  "  I  suppose  the 
sooner  this  business  is  arranged  the  better." 

The  old  gentleman  liked  promptitude,  and  they  set  off. 

Elsie  watched  him  from  the  window  as  they  passed  up 
the  street ;  the  tall,  graceful  youth  accommodating  his 
springing  step  to  the  slow  pace  of  his  lame  companion,  and 
a  flush  of  pride  lighted  her  cheek  as  she  said,  — 

"  Isn't  he  a  noble  fellow,  Sibyl  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  handsome,  mamma ;  but,"  she  added,  al 
most  unconsciously,  "  he  seems  so  much  older  than  he  is ! " 

"  0,  that  is  the  result  of  living  in  a  large  city.  Willie 
is,  indeed,  quite  a  man  in  thought  and  feeling.  Most  boys 
at  eighteen  need  some  one,  at  least,  to  advise  them ;  but  in 
stead  of  advising  or  guiding  him,  I  have  of  late  been  accus 
tomed  to  depend  upon  him." 

Poor  Elsie !  When  did  you  ever  possess  sufficient  ener 
gy  to  guide  yourself — much  less  a  headstrong,  spoiled  boy  ? 

"  I  am  glad  he  had  the  forethought  to  ask  for  that  certifi 
cate  from  his  employers.  He  was  there  but  a  few  weeks  ; 
though  of  course  they  would  give  him  one." 

Sibyl  had  little  opportunity  to  become  acquainted  with 
her  brother.  The  business  with  regard  to  his  situation  in 
Mr.  Wallace's  store  was  successfully  arranged ;  they  could 


250  SIBYL. 

not  afford  to  linger  in  the  city,  and  the  next  day  saw  them 
on  the  way  to  Rockville. 

Elsie  refused  to  be  comforted  after  parting  with  Willie ; 
and,  after  various  efforts,  Master  Richard  and  Sibyl  gave 
up  the  attempt.  The  old  man,  though  never  forgetful  of 
the  comfort  of  his  companions,  seemed  unusually  silent; 
and  Sibyl,  as  the  locomotive  bore  them  swiftly  along,  had 
ample  time  to  recall  her  first  sad  journey  to  Eltham,  and  all 
that  had  occurred  since.  If  the  way  had  seemed  dark  and 
hidden  sometimes,  it  was  light  now.  As  she  looked  in  her 
mother's  pale,  sad  face,  and  thought  how  much  more  than 
ever  she  would  need  some  firm  arm  on  which  to  lean,  and 
how,  amid  the  luxury  of  her  childhood,  she  herself  might 
have  grown  up  weak,  helpless,  and  selfish,  she  had  a  deep 
consoling  sense  of  the  loving  kindness  of  the  overruling  hand 
that  had  ordered  her  steps  ;  and  she  thanked  God  for  the 
evil  and  the  good  —  for  the  strength  which  is  born  of 
weakness. 

It  was  one  of  those  hours  in  which,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
the  cross,  so  long  and  patiently  borne,  slips  from  the  weary 
shoulders,  and  becomes  a  support ;  while  the  soul  takes  in 
the  past  and  the  future,  and  girds  itself  for  the  struggle 
of  life. 

There  had  been  almost  marvellous  changes  since  her  first 
journey  down  there,  and  none  greater  than  at  the  Corners. 
Hitchcock's  of  old  was  missing.  The  railway  track  passed 
directly  over  the  place  where  the  store  had  stood ;  but  a 
large,  white  store,  which  bore  that  gentleman's  name  in  gild- 


AT     THE     NEW    HOME.  251 

ed  letters,  on  the  street  opposite,  and  a  new  cottage  a  few 
rods  distant,  somewhat  profusely  overlaid  Avith  ornament, 
indicated  that  the  change  had  been  to  him  one  of  profit. 

They  left  the  cars  here,  and  took  a  carriage  ;  and  as  the 
road  led  deeper  among  the  hills,  Sibyl  strove  to  draw  her 
mother's  attention  to  the  beauty  of  the  scenery.  It  was  too 
early  in  the  season  for  the  lavish  beauty  that  marked  it  in 
spring  and  summer ;  but  even  in  that  gusty  March  weather, 
a  loving  eye  could  detect  many  a  delicate  trace  of  the  foot 
steps  and  fingers  of  a  shy  spring,  in  the  tender  green  grass 
bordering  the  edges  of  the  little  brooks  and  springs,  the 
freshened  look  of  the  mosses  and  feathery  brakes  clinging  to 
the  rocks  —  in  the  cheerful  call  of  the  robin,  the  heartsome 
song  of  the  bluebird.  Overhead,  the  clouds,  as  ever,  were 
a  spectacle  of  endless  and  ever-changing  beauty  —  now 
gathered  in  white  flocks,  and  driven  slowly  across  the  sky 
by  the  laggard  winds,  or,  scattered  by  some  fitful,  boisterous 
gust,  they  fled  as  if  for  life,  casting  rapidly  changing  shad 
ows  over  the  sunny  landscape  below. 

Mrs.  Monroe's  love  of  beauty  came  to  Sibyl's  aid ;  old 
Master  Richard  had  many  a  tale  to  tell  of  storms  and  fresh 
ets,  or  humble  deeds  of  Christian  charity,  or  Christian  hero 
ism,  on  the  part  of  the  early  settlers  ;  and  when  they  en 
tered  the  Mill  Brook  valley,  and  drew  near  their  own 
home,  Elsie  was  in  quite  a  cheerful  mood. 

"  There,  mamma,  the  cottage  behind  the  locusts,  the  one 
on  which  the  shadow  of  the  church  spire  still  rests,  is  ours !  " 
cried  Sibyl,  half  rising  in  her  eagerness  to  point  out  her 
home,  as  they  entered  the  village. 


252  SIBYL. 

"It  is  quite  pretty,  or  will  be  when  the  locusts  are  in 
blossom.  But  is  it  not  small  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  we  are  small  people,  mamma.  There  is 
plenty  of  room  for  us  two,  as  Master  Richard  can  tell  you." 

"  But  who  are  those  people  —  see,  in  the  doorway,  child? 
I  can  see  no  strangers,"  exclaimed  the  mother,  hastily. 

Sibyl's  face  was  radiant  with  joy.  "  It's  Miss  Silence 
and  Fred,"  she  said,  turning  to  Master  Fenn.  How  kind  of 
them  to  come  to  meet  us.  And  see  !  there  is  grandmother 
Fenn,  behind  Miss  Silence  —  out  of  the  draught  of  the 
door.  I  see  her  white  cap  now.  O  mamma,  they  are  just 
the  best  friends  in  the  world !  You  cannot  help  loving 
them  —  every  one." 

It  was  true  ;  they  were  friends :  and  if  such  hearts  can 
consecrate  a  welcome,  then  Elsie  Monroe  might  consider 
her  entrance  over  that  threshold  as  thrice  blessed. 

"  Old  folks  have  their  whims  sometimes,  as  well  as  young 
ones,"  said  old  mother  Mabel,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  Sib 
yl's  head  ;  "  and  I  had  heard  so  much  said  about  your  house, 
and  your  mother,  that  I  thought  I  would  take  one  more 
journey  before  I  go  on  the  long  one,  and  see  it."  (Mother 
Fenn  always  spoke  of  seeing  just  as  if  she  had  not  lost  her 
sight.)  "  Silence  thought  Richard  might  not  think  it  worth 
while,  but  I  knew  Dick  would  have  nothing  to  say,  if 
mother  really  thought  best." 

"  You  are  right,  mother ;  indeed,  I  think  it  will  do  you 
good  —  at  least,  it  will  do  us  good  to  see  you  here;"  and 
tenderly,  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  child,  lie  led  her  into 


WINNIE'S   PRESENT.  253 

the  parlor.  Fred  followed,  with  his  aunt,  while  Sibyl  gave 
a  glance  into  the  dining  room,  whither  Miss  Silence  had 
disappeared,  after  her  first  hearty  greeting. 

The  good  woman  stood  near  the  table,  cutting  slice  after 
slice  of  snowy  bread  from  a  fresh-baked  loaf,  which  she 
placed  upon  a  table  well  supplied  with  eatables. 

"  There,  go  along  with  you,  and  take  off  your  things," 
she  said,  in  reply  to  Sibyl's  exclamation  of  surprise. 
"  Mother  and  I  thought,  as  likely  as  not,  you  would  not 
have  much  to  begin  on ;  so  we  just  tucked  a  few  things  into 
the  wagon." 

In  the  doorway  of  the  parlor  Sibyl  paused,  in  mute  sur 
prise.  She  had  left  a  blank  space  on  one  side  of  the  room, 
in  arranging  the  furniture,  for  the  piano,  which  she  had 
hired,  but  which  had  not  arrived  when  she  left.  Now,  the 
space  was  occupied  by  a  new  and  richly-cased  instrument, 
and  a  glance  into  Fred's  excited  face  led  her  to  think  that 
she  had  discovered  the  source  from  whence  it  came  ;  but 
before  she  could  express  her  thought,  he  caught  her  hand, 
and  leading  her  to  the  instrument,  pointed  to  a  card  that  lay 
upon  it.  She  took  it  up,  and  read,  in  a  child's  irregular, 
scrawling  chirography,  — 

"  A  present  to  dear  Miss  Monroe,  from  Winnifred  Went- 
worth,  with  the  consent  of  papa  and  grandmamma." 

A  vivid  flush  of  pleasure  and  surprise  glowed  upon 
Sibyl's  face,  as  she  laid  the  card  in  Master  Richard's  hand. 

"  Ay,  it  is  like  him,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

Sibyl's  blush  deepened,  but  Fred  said,  hastily,  almost 
impatiently,  — 


254  SIBYL. 

"  Him  !  the  present  is  from  Winnie,  Master  Fenn." 
But  they  had  no  time  to  pursue  the  matter.  Miss  Si 
lence's  voice  summoned  them  to  the  table  ;  and  as  Elsie  Mon 
roe  listened  to  their  pleasant,  friendly  thoughts,  their  direct, 
practical  good  sense,  their  genial  humor,  and  kind  forbear 
ance  towards  others,  she  began  to  have  a  dim  insight  into 
the  characters  that  had  so  won  her  daughter's  love,  and  to 
feel,  in  spite  of  herself,  somewhat  humiliated  in  their  pres 
ence. 

Thank  Heaven  that  we  have  such  lives  !  Better  than 
sermons  or  words  to  illustrate  to  the  weak  or  doubting 
heart  the  beauty  of  that  way  which  is  peace ! 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE  next  few  days,  Sibyl  was  full  of  business ;  and  as 
her  mother  seemed  to  be  quite  worn  out,  and  to  need  rest, 
she  was  very  willing  she  should  keep  her  room. 

Fred  looked  in  occasionally  to  bring  a  pail  of  water  from 
the  pump,  or  perform  some  little  service  for  her,  and  have 
a  hearty  laugh  over  some  reminiscence  of  their  childish 
days,  called  up  by  the  wide  gingham  apron  which  she  had 
donned,  and  then  went  on  his  way. 

She  had  just  got  through  with  her  dinner  dishes  one  day, 
when  little  Winnie  Wentworth  came  running  in,  full  of  de 
light  and  importance  at  being  permitted  to  call  —  and  to 
call  alone. 

"  I  wanted  to  come  so  much,  Miss  Sibyl !  Grandma 
thought  it  would  be  proper,  and  Miss  Greyling,  my  gov 
erness,  was  coming  this  way  on  some  business,  and  I  came 
with  her.  I'm  to  stay  half  an  hour  —  then  Miss  Greyling 
is  coming  back  for  me." 

Sibyl  let  her  run  on  until  out  of  breath ;  then  raising  her 
to  her  knee,  she  pointed  to  the  piano,  saying,  — 

"  See,  this  is  your  beautiful  gift,  Winnie." 

"  Yes,  papa  said  it  was  mine,  though  I  did  not  pay  my 

(255) 


256  SIBYL. 

own  money  for  it.  I  hadn't  enough,  and  he  had  to  take 
his,"  was  the  straightforward  answer. 

"  How  came  you  to  think  of  such  an  expensive  gift, 
Winnie  ?  " 

"  Because  I  thought  you  would  like  a  piano  better  than 
any  thing  else,  you  used  to  be  so  fond  of  playing ;  and 
cousin  Agnes  said  you  couldn't  have  one." 

"  Miss  Agnes  Drummond  ?  " 

"  Yes."  The  child  colored  deeply,  as  she  replied.  "  She 
said,  one  day,  when  she  came  in  to  see  us,  that  she  had  met 
you  buying  furniture,  and  I  asked  her  if  you  had  bought  a 
piano.  She  laughed,  and  said  no,  she  guessed  you  were 
too  poor  to  do  that,  though  you  might  possibly  hire  one ; 
and  I  thought  then  how  much  I  wished  I  could  buy  one  for 
you,  and  I  thought  of  it  a  great  deal  after  that.  One  day, 
when  I  was  practising,  papa  asked  me  if  I  could  sing 
"  Co*  the  yowes  to  the  knowes"  and  play  the  accompaniment. 
I  said  yes,  and  played  and  sang  it  just  as  you  taught  me 
to ;  and  when  I  had  done,  he  asked  if  I  would  like  to  make 
you  a  present  I  said  yes,  a  piano.  He  wanted  to  know 
what  made  me  think  of  that,  and  I  told  him  what  cousin 
Agnes  said. 

"  I  thought  he  was  displeased,  for  he  did  not  say  any 
thing,  but  went  away  to  his  books.  The  next  day,  he  said 
to  grandmother  that  he  understood  you  were  going  to  house 
keeping,  and  that  I  would  like  to  make  you  some  present, 
if  she  thought  proper. 

"  She  said,  certainly ;  you  had  been  a  good  teacher  to 


WINNIE'S    CALL.  257 

me ;  though  lie  must  select  it,  as  she  could  not  go  out ;  and 
papa  got  the  piano.  I  wanted  him  to  write  my  name  on 
the  card ;  but  he  said  the  gift  was  mine,  and  I  must  do  it 
myself;  only  he  told  me  what  to  say.  Was  it  right,  Miss 
Sibyl  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  dear ;  but  was  your  grandmother  pleased 
with  your  choice  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  She  never  asked  me  any  thing  about  it. 
Perhaps  papa  told  her." 

If  papa  has  not,  some  one  else  has,  "Winnie.  Few  things 
that  concern  Mr.  Ernest  Wentworth  escape  the  observation 
of  Mrs.  Drummond ;  and  the  gift  of  so  valuable  an  article 
as  a  piano,  to  a  poor  governess,  disturbs  her  sense  of  pro 
priety. 

A  book,  a  pair  of  vases,  or  a  silver  card  case,  would  have 
been  much  more  suitable,  she  thinks.  She  has  none  of  that 
lofty  scorn  of  littleness  or  meanness  which  characterizes  her 
sister-in-law,  but  she  is  equally  intent  upon  carrying  out 
her  plans.  Some  people  think  she  had  Miss  Agnes'  future 
establishment  in  view  when  she  came  to  reside  so  near  her 
friends  ;  and  perhaps  she  did  admit  of  such  a  possibility ; 
but  it  was  very  faint,  for  she  had  almost  come  to  believe 
the  assertion  reiterated  with  such  perfect  confidence  by  her 
lofty  sister-in-law  whenever  the  possibility  of  a  change  in 
Ernest's  condition  was  suggested  —  "  My  son  Ernest  will 
never  marry  again."  But  she  has  two  sons  younger  than 
Agnes,  whose  expenses  she  even  now  finds  it  difficult  to 
meet.  She  believes  Enic.4  Woiilworlh  will  be  n  rich  man, 
17 


258  SIBYL. 

if  he  is  not  so  now ;  there  is  but  one  life  —  yours,  little 
"Winnie  —  between  them  and  the  property ;  that  may  go  out 
in  a  natural  way,  or  become  absorbed  into  her  own  family. 
Besides,  Mrs.  Drummond  has  a  natural  propensity  to  man 
age;  and  while  you,  little  Winnie,  were  so  deeply  absorbed 
in  trying  to  comprehend  Miss  Greyling's  explanation  of 
long  division,  the  other  day,  aunty  Drummond  was  hint 
ing,  as  plainly  as  she  dared,  the  impropriety  of  making  such 
valuable  presents  to  a  governess. 

"  It  was  Winnie's  gift,  sister  Drummond,"  said  Mrs. 
Wentworth,  briefly. 

"  Yes  ;  so  I  understood  —  but  the  world,  dear  sister,  will, 
as  you  know,  think  what  it  pleases." 

"  Let  it !  and  my  granddaughter  will  continue  to  make 
such  presents  as  she  pleases,"  was  the  haughty  reply. 

Mrs.  Drummond  was  silent  a  second,  as  if  very  seriously 
reflecting  upon  the  wisdom  of  such  a  course ;  at  length  she 
observed,  — 

"  True  ;  it  is  very  proper  that  both  she  and  your  son  should 
do  so.  However,  I  think  people  in  our  position  sometimes 
err  in  not  taking  into  sufficient  consideration  the  condition 
of  those  whom  they  wish  to  benefit.  Favors  of  this  kind, 
coming  ostensibly  from  a  gentleman,  may  be  construed  to 
the  poor  girl's  disadvantage." 

The  red  blood  showed  clear  through  the  dark  cheek  of 
Mrs.  Wentworth,  as  she  said,  sternly,  — 

"  You  are  speaking  of  my  son,  sister  Drummond,  and  of 
a  young  pcivon  whom  I  selected  as  the  preceptress  of  my 


MRS.      D  R  U  M  M  O  N  D  .  259 

granddaughter,  an  inmate  of  my  family,  whose  conduct, 
while  here,  permit  me  to  add,  was  such  as  met  my  unquali 
fied  approbation." 

The  tone,  to  say  nothing  of  the  words,  would  have  been 
enough  to  discourage  almost  any  one  but  Mrs.  Drummond. 
She  was  not  easily  daunted.  She  had  one  arrow  more, 
which,  under  the  guise  of  indignant  sympathy,  she  meant 
should  hit  home  ;  and  she  said,  pleasantly,  — 

"  I  beg  pardon.  I  have  lived  so  long  in  the  busy,  wicked 
world,  that  I  have  grown  over-watchful  and  suspicious,  I 
suppose.  I  forget  that  it  is  so  wholly  different  with  you 
in  this  country  village,  where  half  the  people  are  in  some 
way  dependent  upon  you  for  their  daily  bread.  You  must 
lay  the  blame  where  it  belongs  —  to  the  deep  interest  I  take 
in  all  that  concerns  you.  I  confess  I  can  never  quite  for 
give  this  girl  for  leaving  you  as  she  did.  If  she  had  felt  as 
she  should,  she  would  have  thought  the  service  of  a  life 
time  too  little  to  repay  all  the  evil  you  have  suffered  from 
her  father's  dishonesty.  To  me  there  is  something  insult 
ing  in  her  setting  herself  down  here  right  in  your  face,  with 
her  mother,  and  expecting  to  still  get  a  living,  as  one  may 
say,  out  of  you.  I  really  thought  she  had  more  delicacy." 

"  Annie  ! "  said  Mrs.  Wentworth,  —  and  the  high,  proud 
face  flushed  with  scornful  indignation,  —  "  Annie,  I  seldom 
speak  of  the  past  —  never  to  you,  because  it  is  useless. 
But  when  my  son  Ernest  spoke  to  me  of  this  girl,  Arthur 
Monroe's  daughter,  as  a  person  suitable  to  take  charge  of 
his  child,  I  was  astonished  at  him  —  indignant ;  and  I  spoke 


260  SIBYL. 

what  I  felt.  He  uttered  but  one  word,  —  '  Mother  ; '  but  the 
tone  and  the  look  were  enough.  It  gave  me  such  a  view  of 
myself  as  I  had  never  taken  before.  I  saw  how  the  anger, 
the  almost  vindictive  hate,  which  I  had  nourished  towards 
that  man  —  the  author  of  our  ruin,  as  I  viewed  him  —  had 
dragged  me  down  to  a  level  with  himself — even  lower,  if 
possible.  Then  I  brought  home  his  child,  ostensibly  to  be 
the  governess  of  my  granddaughter,  but  in  reality  that  I 
might  have  before  me,  day  after  day,  a  memorial  of  my  sin. 

"  She  knew  nothing  of  this  ;  she  performed  her  duty 
well ;  if,  when  she  chose  to  go,  the  old  self-love  and  arbi 
trary  will  stirred  in  my  heart,  she  was  not  to  blame.  She 
had  fulfilled  her  mission  with  me,  and  God  forbid  that  I 
should  put  an  obstacle  in  her  way." 

Mrs.  Drummond  felt  that  the  discussion  was  closed  for 
the  present. 

Sibyl  had  taken  an  early  opportunity  to  explain  to  her 
mother  her  plans  and  the  necessity  which  would  compel  her 
to  devote  most  of  her  time  to  the  duties  of  teaching.  The 
mother  seemed  to  take  little  interest  in  them,  further  than 
to  bewail  the  change  that  made,  such  labor  necessary. 

She  knew  "nothing  about  business  herself — Arthur 
ahvays  said  she  didn't  —  but  she  didn't  see  why  they  should 
be  compelled  to  turn  their  house,  which  was  really  a  very 
decent  one  in  its  way,  into  a  noisy  school  house.  There 
were  but  two  of  them,  and  they  could  want  but  very  little." 

The  Bourbon  princess  who  asked,  when  the  French 
people  were  dying  of  famine,  why,  if  they  could  not  get 


SIBYL'S    SCHOOL.  261 

bread,  they  did  not  eat  cake,  knew  about  as  much  of  the 
actual  needs  and  responsibilities  of  life  as  Elsie  Monroe. 

"  But  that  little  must  be  had,  mamma,"  Sibyl  was  wont 
to  respond  gayly  ;  "  and  as  neither  of  us  happen  to  have  a 
fairy  godmother,  I  see  no  way  better  to  effect  that  end  than 
the  one  purposed.  A  dozen  or  so  little  girls  will  keep  us 
from  growing  stupid.  I  think  you  will  like  it." 

She  did  not  misjudge ;  though  for  the  first  few  weeks  she 
was  very  careful  to  keep  her  scholars  from  intruding  into  her 
mother's  presence,  or  in  any  way  disturbing  her.  But  child 
ish  sympathy  and  admiration  are  easily  excited  ;  and  it  was 
very  natural  for  the  little  girls  to  look  with  interest  upon 
the  pale  but  still  lovely  face  of  their  teacher's  mother, 
as  she  sat  by  the  open  window  beneath  which  they  daily 
passed,  and  to  sometimes  offer  her  the  bunch  of  fragrant 
flowers  designed  for  the  daughter. 

She  was  not  proof  against  these  attentions,  and  after  a 
time  she  began  to  make  her  appearance  in  the  school  room 
with  her  work,  —  a  bit  of  some  elegant  embroidery,  —  in 
her  hand,  which  gradually  was  laid  aside,  while  she  took  her 
place  at  the  piano,  and  relieved  Sibyl  of  the  task  of  over 
looking  the  exercises  in  music  —  a  part  for  which  she  was 
admirably  fitted  ;  besides,  she  was  an  excellent  French 
scholar,  and  Sibyl  spared  no  pains  to  catch  the  pronuncia 
tion  from  her  lips. 

Grandmother  Mabel  was  right.  Our  Lord  did  know 
what  she  was  here  for ;  and  we,  if  we  were  not  so  blind, 
should  be  able  to  see  that  no  spark  of  life,  however  feeble 


262  SIBYL. 

and  dim,  is  permitted  to  go  out  upon  this  earth  without 
illustrating  some  truth,  teaching  some  lesson,  which  it  is 
God's  will  we  shall  learn.  O,  if  we  could  hut  more  plainly 
discern  the  end ! 

Still,  as  yet,  Miss  Silence  could  not  see  this.  There  was 
a  twist,  if  not  in  her  eyes,  in  those  clear,  silver-bowed 
glasses  of  hers,  that  made  her  look,  ohliquely  at  mere  ac 
complishments  ;  and  it  was  not  until  she  saw  Mrs.  Monroe, 
sitting  by  her  side,  copying  recipe  after  recipe  from  the 
manuscript  book  that  contained  the  accumulated  experience 
of  her  mother  and  herself  in  the  art  of  cooking,  and  writ 
ing  down  her  explanations  so  minutely  in  that  delicate  hand, 
that  she  began  to  have  hope  of  her ;  not  until  she  had 
tasted  of  a  mince  pie  concocted  by  that  lady's  own  hands, 
that  she  uttered  her  emphatic  — 

"  Mother,  that  woman  will  be  worth  something  yet." 

The  time  had  come  to  Elsie  Monroe,  which  comes,  sooner 
or  later,  to  all  that  live,  when  God  so  arranges  and  over 
rules  the  circumstances  of  our  lives,  as  to  compel  us  to  look 
inward  and  take  some  account  of  our  betrayed  trusts  and 
neglected  duties. 

She  could  not  see  the  unwearied  industry,  the  faithfulness, 
the  patience,  with  which  Sibyl  went  through  her  round  of 
daily  duties,  without  a  query  as  to  her  own  life. 

It  was  a  new  thing,  a  hard  thing,  for  her  to  think  at  all ; 
but  it  is  always  easier  to  raise  questions  than  to  silence 
them  ;  and  in  the  stillness  of  those  long  summer  days, 
slowly  the  dim  thought  dawned  upon  her,  that  she  had 
something  here  to  do. 


THE     HOUSEKEEPING.  263 

Sibyl  kept  no  servant ;  much  of  her  furniture  was  still 
unpaid  for,  and  she  could  permit  herself  no  such  luxuries, 
as  long  as  this  debt  remained.  She  had  pleased  herself 
with  the  thought  that  her  house  work  would  be  a  pleasant 
and  beneficial  relaxation  from  the  duties  of  the  school  room  ; 
but  like  most  young  housekeepers,  she  soon  found  that  she 
had  overrated  her  powers ;  and  moreover,  however  excel 
lent  and  pleasant  the  combination  of  intellectual  labor  and 
physical  exercise,  that  mere  household  drudgery,  of  which 
there  must  be  some  in  the  smallest  family,  is  quite  another 
thing.  She  was  obliged,  therefore,  to  call  quite  often  on 
her  washerwoman,  who  had  promised  to  come  in  and  help 
her  at  odd  times. 

Her  mother  gradually  got  an  understanding  of  this.  It 
was  still  hard,  as  of  old,  for  her  to  rise  in  the  morning ;  and 
Sibyl  was  therefore  very  much  surprised  to  see  her  make 
her  appearance  in  the  small  kitchen  one  morning  a  full  hour 
earlier  than  usual,  and  after  watching  her  a  few  moments, 
as  she  deftly  moulded  some  biscuit  for  breakfast,  ask  if 
there  was  any  thing  she  could  do  to  assist  her. 

"  You,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  think  I  might  do  something  to  help  you.  Will 
you  let  me  try  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  laughing  reply  ;  "  but  as  I  am  chief 
cook,  I  shall  not  let  you  touch  my  biscuit.  You  may  lay 
the  table,  if  you  please,  and  as  soon  as  I  put  these  in  the 
oven,  I  will  boil  the  eggs." 

She  wiped  the  flour  from  her  hands,  to  show  her  mother 


264  SIBYL. 

where  were  the  necessary  articles  for  the  table ;  and  when 
the  latter  had  arranged  this  to  her  taste,  placing  upon  it, 
after  the  French  custom,  a  beautiful  bouquet,  gathered  from 
Sibyl's  little  bed  of  flowers  beneath  the  windows,  she  in 
sisted  upon  boiling  the  eggs. 

Sibyl  was  too  wise  to  refuse ;  and  with  her  watch  in  her 
hand,  —  Arthur's  gift  before  their  marriage,  —  she  watched 
while  the  requisite  number  of  seconds  slipped  away,  with 
an  interest  quite  new  to  her ;  and  when  she  seated  herself 
at  the  table,  she  was  a  prouder  and  a  happier  woman  than 
she  had  been  for  many  a  day. 

Habits  the  growth  of  years  are  hard  to  overcome  ;  and 
not  unfrequently  after  that,  she  had  to  chide  Sibyl  for  per 
mitting  her  to  oversleep ;  and  sometimes,  when  she  had 
taken  upon  herself  the  responsibility  of  preparing  dinner, 
she  would  forget  all  about  it,  until  the  pattering  of  the 
children's  feet  upon  the  stairs  warned  her  that  it  was  already 
noon.  But  she  really  tried  to  do  her  best,  and,  as  we  have 
hinted,  developed  quite  a  genius  for  the  niceties  of  house 
keeping  ;  her  cream  cakes  were  delightful,  and  even  Miss 
Silence  pronounced  her  biscuit  perfect. 

Many  things  tended  to  foster  this  change.  Their  social 
position  brought  them  acquainted  with  several  very  pleasant 
families,  and  Master  Fenn's  had  become  almost  as  dear  to 
the  widow  as  to  her  daughter.  The  gentleness,  the  patience, 
and  simple  faith  of  old  blind  Mother  Mabel  possessed  for 
her  world-wearied  mind  a  singular  charm. 

Sibyl  seldom  spoke  to  her  mother  of  herself;  but  Miss 


ELSIE.  265 

Silence's  lips  were  not  so  close,  and  Elsie,  in  her  awakening 
to  a  healthier  tone  of  life,  could  not  help  thinking  often, 
with  a  feeling  of  self-reproach,  on  the  long  years  of  loneli 
ness  and  neglect  to  which  her  thoughtlessness  —  to  use  no 
harder  term  —  had  consigned  her  child. 

But  she  did  not  say  this.  If  it  is  hard  for  a  strong, 
proud  nature  to  acknowledge  error,  and  utter  the  word 
"  forgive,"  it  is  harder  still  for  the  weak  and  vain ;  and  she 
only  manifested  her  feeling  by  increased  respect  and  defer 
ence  towards  Sibyl.  It  was  the  dependent,  reverent,  un 
questioning  affection  of  a  child  towards  a  parent,  rather 
than  the  strong,  thoughtful,  far-reaching,  unwearied  love  of 
a  mother.  They  seemed  to  have  exchanged  posts  ;  and  it 
was  never  more  observable  than  when  she  spoke  of  Willie. 

Sibyl  felt  this  deeply.  Must  she  always  be  alone  ?  The 
burden  of  labor  and  care  she  could  bear ;  she  asked  no  one 
to  share  it  with  her.  But  the  feeling  of  womanly  helpless 
ness  that  overcame  her  at  times  ;  the  reaching  forth  for 
support ;  the  strong  yearning  for  perfect  trust ;  unquestion 
ing  reliance  on  a  stronger,  wiser  nature  —  would  that  never 
be  realized  ? 

It  is  hard,  even  for  a  woman,  to  always  feel  that  "  it  is 
more  blessed  to  give  than  receive." 

Willie  was  ever  her  mother's  first  thought,  and  she  was 
surprised  to  see  her  natural  extravagance  give  way  to  the 
most  rigid  economy  —  not  to  say  parsimony  —  that  she 
might  be  able  to  indulge  him.  Scarcely  a  letter  went  to 
him  which  did  not  enclose  some  little  remittance,  to  add  to 
his  comfort,  —  or  his  ruin,  as  Sibyl  sometimes  queried. 


266  SIBYL. 

The  autumn  brought  him  down  on  a  visit,  and  Sibyl's 
first  impression  of  his  character  was  only  deepened  by  a 
closer  acquaintance.  He  was  thoroughly  selfish.  The  Pa 
risian  polish  of  his  manner  could  not  conceal  that  from  her 
anxious  eyes,  even  if  he  had  always  retained  it ;  but  like 
that  of  many  other  people,  it  was  almost  wholly  laid  aside 
with  his  mother,  and  Sibyl  was  often  pained  at  the  indiffer 
ence  and  rudeness  of  his  manner  towards  her. 

He  had  come  down  "  to  amuse  himself,"  he  said,  "  with 
fishing  and  hunting ;  not  to  be  tied  to  her  apron  string." 
He  soon  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  half  dozen  young 
men  usually  lounging  about  the  hotel  of  a  manufacturing 
village,  and  almost  every  day  and  night  found  him  abroad 
in  their  company,  while  his  consequent  late  hours  in  the 
morning  did  not  tend  to  improve  his  temper  at  all. 

One  morning,  he  seemed  unusually  moody  and  irritable, 
and  Sibyl  soon  learned  from  her  mother  the  cause.  He 
had  looked  in  upon  a  ball  given  at  the  Hollister  House  — 
the  chief  hotel  of  the  village  —  the  evening  before,  and 
some  one  had  relieved  him  of  his  pocket  book,  and  all  his 
funds. 

"  He  dislikes  to  apply  to  you  so  much,  Sibyl ;  but  he 
knows  no  one  else,  and  he  has  not  money  enough  left  to 
take  him  back  to  New  York." 

"  He  need  not,  mamma.  How  much  will  be  necessary  ?  " 
and  she  turned  with  a  bright  smile  to  the  desk  which  held 
her  small  hoard. 

"Some   twenty   or  twenty-five   dollars   he  says  will  do. 


WILLIE'S   POCKET   BOOK.  267 

To  be  sure,"  —  she  went  on,  reading  Sibyl's  look  of  sur 
prise,  —  "  he  will  not  need  it  all  to  pay  his  fare,  but  he  may 
want  a  trifle  for  something  else,  and  it  is  always  so  dis 
agreeable  to  him  to  be  without  money." 

Sibyl  looked  thoughtful.  She  had  so  many  times  counted 
up  just  how  much  she  could  spare  from  the  amount  recently 
received  for  this  first  quarter  towards  liquidating  the  debt  at 
the  cabinet  maker's,  and  the  sum  mentioned  by  her  mother 
covered  nearly  the  whole  amount.  To  be  sure,  the  man 
would  wait.  He  had  told  her  so  the  last  time  she 
had  spoken  to  him  about  it ;  but  this  did  not  lessen  the 
annoying  sense  of  obligation  she  felt  every  time  she  saw 
him. 

Her  mother  saw  her  hesitation,  and  said,  in  the  tone  of  a 
person  much  aggrieved,  — 

"  You  surely  won't  refuse  him,  Sibyl.  Willie  can't  bear 
niggardly  people." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  and  words  that  brought 
to  the  daughter's  mind  the  old  charge  of  selfishness,  so  often 
made  against  her  in  her  younger  days,  and,  listening  to  her 
feelings  rather  than  her  reason,  she  placed  the  money  in  her 
mother's  hand,  saying, — 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  debt  we  owe  Mr.  Smith.  It 
ought  to  be  paid." 

"  0,  never  mind  him.  He  can  wait.  Such  people  expect 
to  wait." 

"  I  know  he  will  wait ;  but,  mamma,  had  not  Willie 
better  make  some  further  inquiries  ?  I  can  hardly  think 


268  SIBYL. 

any  of  the  young  people  at  the  Hollister  House  would  be 
likely  to  take  his  money.  He  might  have  laid  down  his 
pocket  book  some  where  accidentally." 

"  I  suggested  the  same  thing  to  him ;  but  he  is  positive 
that  he  did  not.  Besides,  he  can't  bear  to  make  a  fuss.  He 
is  so  independent ! " 

The  subject  troubled  Sibyl.  She  could  not  doubt  that 
her  brother  had  spoken  the  truth  ;  yet  it  seemed  so  strange 
that  he  should  refuse  to  make  any  inquiries  after  his  prop 
erty.  She  scarcely  knew  whether  she  had  done  right  in 
yielding  to  her  mother's  request,  and,  contrary  to  her  usual 
habit,  she  did  not  tell  her  old  friend,  Master  Fenn,  of  this 
when  he  called  next  day,  from  a  sort  of  misgiving,  that  it 
would  expose  not  only  herself,  but  her  mother  and  brother, 
to  censure. 

The  winter  passed  very  quietly.  Fred  Monroe  was 
absent,  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  "Wentworth,  looking  after  the 
sale  of  his  patent  himself;  but  his  letters  were  full  and 
frequent.  As  they  came  to  Mr.  Wentworth's  box,  that 
gentleman  usually  came  round  that  way,  and  delivered 
them  himself.  At  first  he  only  paused  long  enough  to  pass 
the  compliments  of  the  day ;  but  it  sometimes  happened 
that  Sibyl  was  playing  when  he  came,  and  on  such  occa 
sions  he  always  remained  a  pleased  listener,  or  she  had 
something  to  tell  him  of  Fred's  success,  and  it  was  strange 
how  closely,  upon  these  occasions,  the  stern,  reserved  man 
studied  her  —  strange  that  a  blush  or  the  emotion  which 


FRED'S    LETTERS.  269 

she  often  showed  when  speaking  of  her  cousin,  should 
sometimes  raise  in  him  a  miserable  feeling  of  self- 
contempt. 

He  had  limited  the  possibilities  of  life ;  perchance  he 
began  to  suspect  his  error. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

IT  was  Thanksgiving  —  that  dear  old  New  England 
festival,  which  gathers  together  the  scattered  families  to 
keep  the  feast  of  the  tabernacles  beneath  the  old  household 
roof,  to  thank  God  for  the  plenteous  harvests,  and  call  upon 
the  "  man  servant  and  maid  servant,  the  stranger  and  the 
fatherless,"  to  rejoice  with  them,  and  partake  freely  of  the 
gifts  of  his  hand. 

Thanksgiving !  Who,  when  he  thinks  of  the  origin  of 
this  festival,  its  true  meaning  and  purpose,  will  deny  that 
our  old  fathers,  stern  and  exacting  as  they  were,  had  that 
deep  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  which  translates  itself 
into  beauty  ? 

These  festivals,  always  significantly  kept  at  Master 
Fenn's,  had  received  a  new  interest  since  Fred  and  Sibyl 
had  become,  as  it  were,  the  children  of  the  household. 

Neither  did  the  stranger  or  the  fatherless  suffer  from  this 
addition  to  the  old  man's  family.  He  had  a  curious  way 
of  looking  at  things,  and  counted  himself  all  the  richer  for 
the  gift  of  these  two  young  hearts. 

Fred  was  still  absent  at  this  season ;  but  Sibyl  and  her 

(270) 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  271 

mother  were  to  be  the  guests,  and  all  the  old-time  prepara 
tions  were  made  with  scrupulous  exactness. 

And  they  kept  thanksgiving  there  too,  but  not  with 
feasting  and  mirth;  for  another  guest  was  added  to  their 
number.  Silently,  amid  the  deep  watches  of  the  night,  a 
presence  crossed  the  threshold,  and,  in  the  ears  of  blind  old 
mother  Mabel,  — 

"  Whispered  a  word  that  had  a  sound  like  death." 

So  gently,  so  quietly  did  he  lead  her  through  the  dark 
valley,  that  they  might  have  thought  her  still  sleeping,  had 
it  not  been  for  that  deathly  pallor  upon  the  face,  and  the 
rigid  look  of  muscle  and  limb. 

Still  there  were  thankful  hearts  there  —  hearts  that 
could  discern  the  loving  kindness  of  the  hand  that  had  thus 
lifted  the  burden  of  years  and  blindness,  and  opened  for 
her  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the  eternal  life.  O,  amid 
all  our  thanksgivings,  let  us  not  fail  to  be  grateful  for  death, 
as  well  as  life. 

There  were  tears  there  too.  There  could  not  fail  to  be ; 
for  we  are  so  slow  to  see  that  it  is  evil,  imperfection,  alone, 
that  perishes ;  that  good  is  eternal ;  that  the  blessing  of  a 
life  like  hers  cannot  be  buried  up  in  the  grave ! 

"  She  sees  now,"  Master  Richard  said  to  his  weeping 
sister,  as  they  turned  away  from  her  grave  in  Eltham 
churchyard;  and,  though  they  missed  her  wise  counsels, 
and  even  that  very  helplessness,  which  had  mingled  with 
their  reverent  love  something  of  the  protecting  tenderness 


272  SIBYL. 

one  feels  for  a  little  child,  they  comforted  themselves  with 
this  thought. 

It  was  during  this  visit  that  Sibyl  met  again  her  old  ac 
quaintance,  Amanda  Culver  ;  and  as  she  looked  in  her  face, 
and  read  there  the  fulfilment  of  all  she  had  feared,  she  felt 
how  much  more  sorrowful  life  may  be  than  death. 

The  girl  evidently  avoided  her ;  but  the  reckless,  unhap 
py,  half-defiant  look,  that  had  settled  upon  her  face,  was 
enough.  Sibyl  did  not  need  her  own  words,  or  the  gossip 
of  the  neighborhood,  to  tell  her  of  the  discord  in  that  mis 
erable  home. 

Neither  was  she  at  all  surprised,  when,  some  months 
later,  driven  to  desperation  by  the  interference  of  relations, 
and  the  exercise  of  an  authority  which  she  scorned,  the 
young,  high-spirited,  unloving  wife  quit  her  husband's 
house,  and  finding  all  other  doors  closed  against  her,  stood 
before  her  a  fugitive. 

"  They  say  I  have  done  wrong ;  that  I  am  wicked  and 
bad  tempered ;  that  I  must  go  back  and  submit ;  but  I'll  die 
first !  "  she  said,  vehemently.  "  I  know  that  I  am  quick 
tempered  —  passionate,  and  often  wrong ;  but  living  there 
only  makes  me  worse.  I'm  afraid  of  myself,  sometimes, 
and  the  wicked  thoughts  that  come  into  my  head.  I'll  do 
any  thing  for  you,  Sibyl,  only  don't  tell  me  to  go  back  to 
John  Stephens ! " 

Sibyl  had  no  wish  to  send  her  back.  She  willingly  gave 
her  a  home,  and  the  grateful  girl  soon  relieved  her  from 
much  of  her  domestic  responsibility.  The  arrangement 


THINGS     IN     THE     VILLAGE.  273 

was  a  timely  one  for  both,  and  Sibyl  again  resumed  her 
walks,  now  confined  by  the  deep  snow  to  the  well-trodden 
streets  of  the  village. 

Some  casual  circumstance  had  brought  her  in  contact 
with  some  families  of  the  poorer  portion  of  the  population, 
and  excited  in  her  a  desire  to  know  more  of  that  phase 
of  life. 

This  winter  brought  ample  opportunity ;  for  the  past  year 
had  been  unfavorable,  not  only  for  manufactures,  but  for 
agriculture.  A  cold,  wet  spring,  followed  by  a  severe 
drought,  had  produced  but  a  scanty  harvest ;  provisions  were 
both  scarce  and  high,  and  the  severity  with  which  the  win 
ter  set  in  made  the  prospects  of  the  poorer  families  in  the 
village  any  thing  but  favorable. 

The  misery  of  destitution  was  most  apparent,  if  not 
most  severe,  among  the  class  of  reckless,  improvident  for 
eigners,  who  usually  crowd  such  a  place ;  and  as  Sibyl  ex 
tended  her  acquaintance  with  them,  she  was  surprised,  not 
alone  at  the  suffering,  but  at  the  ignorance,  vice,  and  crime, 
and,  above  all,  at  the  deep  hate  which  they  seemed  to  nour 
ish  toward  the  mill  owners,  who  could  not  or  would  not  find 
them  employment. 

The  feeling  was  not  wholly  confined  to  the  foreigners. 
Many  of  the  native  operatives  were  uneasy  —  discussing, 
newspaper  in  hand,  the  relation  of  capital  to  labor,  and  rais 
ing  problems  which  neither  the  wisdom  nor  experience  of 
ages  has  yet  been  able  to  solve,  and  warmly  advocating  a 
strike  for  higher  wages. 
18 


274  SIBYL. 

The  wiser,  more  thoughtful,  looked  upon  the  faces  of 
their  wives  and  little  ones,  and  still  held  back ;  but  wisdom 
and  thought  are  ever  in  the  minority,  and  the  turbulent, 
undisciplined  mass,  whose  chief  notion  of  liberty  is  un 
bounded  license,  pressed  them  forward  in  spite  of  them 
selves  ;  and  so  the  crisis  slowly  ripened. 

Sibyl  could  not  understand  how  a  few  pennies  per  day 
above  their  usual  wages  was  going  to  remedy  this  wide 
spread  want.  Indeed,  in  the  case  of  many,  it  seemed  that 
any  amount  of  money  would  be  in  vain ;  but  when  she  ven 
tured  to  speak  of  patience,  she  was  met  by  the  old,  eternal 
query  — 

"  Why  must  we  starve,  while  our  employers  hoard 
wealth  ? " 

"  Look ! "  cried  an  Irish  mother  one  day,  to  whom  she 
had  been  speaking  of  some  sanatory  measures  in  favor  of 
her  sick  child,  as  with  one  hand  she  drew  up  the  miserable 
little  thing  from  its  pile  of  rags  —  "  why  should  the  mas- 
ther's  child  go  dressed  in  silks,  and  mine  be  kilt  wid  the 
hunger  and  cauld  ?  " 

She  could  not  answer  ;  and  she  would  gladly  have  spoken 
to  Mr.  Wentworth  of  these  things,  but  a  change  had  come 
over  him.  It  was  long  since  he  had  called  there,  and  when 
ever  she  met  him  in  the  street,  his  manner  was  reserved, 
and  his  words  brief;  very  different  from  the  cordiality 
which  had  marked  their  intercourse  for  many  months  past ; 
and  Sibyl  was  unwilling  to  own  to  herself  how  much  this 
change  darkened  and  deepened  the  gloom  of  the  atmosphere 
around  her. 


SIBYL'S   DISCOVERY.  275 

"  He  is  troubled  about  his  business,"  she  said  to  herself 
again  and  again ;  "  he  will  come  to-morrow ; "  and  the 
music  which  he  liked  best  was  played  over,  and  the  books 
he  liked  best  placed  close  at  hand. 

"  I  can't  think  what  has  become  of  Mr.  Wentworth,"  said 
her  mother  one  evening.  "  Sibyl,  have  you  done  any  thing 
to  offend  him  ?  I  thought  he  seemed  somewhat  absent  and 
distrait  the  last  time  he  was  here  —  the  day  you  were 
speaking  of  Fred's  return.  I  hope  not,  for  I  miss  him  so 
much." 

It  was  the  feeling  that  had  been  stirring  in  her  heart  for 
so  many  weeks  —  "I  miss  him  so  much  !  " 

And  why  ?  She  flung  aside  the  music  of  Beethoven's 
Adelaide,  which  she  had  been  looking  over,  and  hastily  re 
treated  to  her  chamber.  For  what  ?  To  meet  that  ques 
tion  ;  to  bow  down  beneath  the  shame,  and  sorrow,  and  self- 
scorn  that  ever  come  to  woman  when  she  first  discovers 
that,  unsought,  unasked,  her  whole  life  has  flowed  out  to 
wards  another. 

Well  might  she  weep  sorrowful  tears  —  well  might  she 
watch  and  pray  through  the  livelong  hours  of  that  night ; 
for  it  is  a  fearfully  solemn  thing  to  know  that  one's  future 
is  no  longer  in  one's  own  power ;  that  all  its  joys  and 
sorrows  must  take  their  coloring  from  another  —  a  sepa 
rate  life. 

Yet,  when  the  first  sharp  pain  was  over,  she  met  this 
subject  bravely,  solemnly,  as  one  faces  death.  The  morn 
ing  light  was  breaking,  when  she  raised  her  head  from  the 


27G  SIBYL. 

table,  where  it  had  rested  so  many  hours,  and  putting  back 
the  soft,  brown  hair,  looked  for  some  seconds  steadily  at  the 
face  reflected  back  from  the  mirror  which  hung  above. 

The  beauty  which  those  who  loved  her  saw  there  —  the 
gentle  serenity,  the  purity,  the  calm  thoughtfulness  —  were 
invisible  to  her.  Agitation  had  brought  out  the  dim  scars 
of  disease,  and,  turning  away,  she  set  down  her  lamp,  mur 
muring  the  old  time  reproach  —  "  Not  like  other  people  ! 
How  could  I  dream  such  a  dream !  " 

Patiently,  earnestly,  she  set  herself  to  the  old  round  of 
duties  ;  but  she  could  not  bring  back  the  old,  elastic  spirit. 
Those  who  have  few  hopes  and  pleasures  cling  to  them 
closest ;  and  it  was  so  hard  for  her  to  put  aside  the  books 
and  music  they  had  read  or  practised  together,  and  make  as 
though  the  past  had  never  been. 

She  knew  that  from  the  troubled  waters  of  life  come  heal 
ing  and  strength  ;  she  knew  that  the  way  before  her  had  been 
trodden  by  many  who  had  exchanged  their  weakness  for  the 
victor's  crown;  but  the  thought  of  them  as  often  brought 
discouragement  as  hope  ;  for  she  looked  only  to  the  result, 
and  forgot  how  frequently  they;  too,  might  have  stumbled, 
fainted,  and  grown  weary  in  the  strife. 

This  change  in  her  finally  awakened  her  mother's  atten 
tion  and  anxiety.  She  insisted  upon  her  closing  her  school 
at  once.  Sibyl  had  arranged  the  term  so  that  her  vacation 
would  happen  about  the  time  that  Fred  was  expected 
home,  and  she  could  not  be  induced  to  make  any  change. 

"  Well,  there  is  one  thing  you  must  do,  child  ;  I  insist 


SIBYL     AND     HER     MOTHER.  277 

upon  it,"  said  the  mother,  anxiously.  "  You  must  give  up 
going  so  much  among  these  poor,  miserable  people  of  whom 
you  say  so  much.  It's  enough  to  make  any  one  look 
wretched ;  I'm  sure  it  would  kill  me.  If  any  one  must 
needs  go,  you  can  send  Amanda." 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  mamma.  Besides,  Amanda 
always  does  go  with  me." 

Mrs.  Monroe  looked  at  her  anxiously  for  some  moments ; 
then,  crossing  the  room  to  where  she  sat  upon  the  lounge, 
she  seated  herself  by  her  side,  and  drew  her  head  to  her 
shoulder. 

The  movement  was  so  new  —  so  unexpected,  that  Sibyl 
met  it  with  one  quite  as  new  on  her  part  —  a  burst  of 
tears. 

"  Sibyl,"  said  the  mother,  after  a  pause,  "  forgive  me  that 
I  have  not  before  noticed  that  you  were  ill ;  I  have  been 
too  thoughtless  —  always  too  thoughtless  about  you,  I  am 
afraid,  my  child,  not  only  now,  but  in  the  years  gone  by." 

The  guerdon  was  won  ;  the  mournful  self-reproach  of  her 
mother's  tone  taught  her  that  the  tenderness  for  which  she 
had  so  much  yearned  as  a  child  was  new  born  for  her  now, 
in  this  hour  of  her  womanly  weakness  and  distrust. 

The  thought  was  infinitely  comforting ;  and  raising  her 
head,  and  choking  back  the  tears,  she  said,  — 

"  Do  not  think  about  it  any  more,  mamma,  and  I  will  try 
to  be  stronger." 

It  was  not  a  difficult  thing  to  quiet  Elsie;  but  Fred, 
upon  his  arrival,  was  not  so  easily  deceived.  Her  look  of 


278  SIBYL. 

patient,  subdued  suffering  struck  a  chill  to  his  heart,  as, 
still  holding  her  hand  in  his,  he  put  her  from  him  to  gaze  at 
her  again  and  again.  It  kept  back  the  loving  words  that 
leaped  to  his  lips,  and  he  waited  patiently  while  she  should 
speak  to  him  of  her  trouble  ;  but  when  he  found  that  she 
studiously  avoided  any  allusion  to  herself,  the  shadow  deep 
ened  upon  his  heart. 

In  all  things  else,  her  manner  was  marked  by  the  same 
open,  sisterly  kindness  and  affection  as  ever  —  more  thought 
ful  even  than  ever,  for  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  wronged 
him  by  having  a  feeling  that  he  must  not  share. 

In  the  old  days  at  the  farm  house,  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  question  her  —  to  urge  her  to  tell  him  all  her 
thoughts  ;  indeed,  he  would  most  likely  have  insisted  upon 
it ;  but  with  his  manhood,  especially  since  their  expulsion 
from  the  old  home  had  constituted  him  her  protector,  a  new 
feeling  had  come  to  temper  all  his  relations  with  her  —  a 
feeling  of  delicate  respect,  which  could  accept  only  what  she 
chose  to  give  ;  fearing  even  to  seem  to  presume  upon  the 
sweet  barrier  of  dignity  and  reserve  with  which  womanhood 
had  come  to  surround  her  as  with  a  sacred  veil. 

Therefore  he  waited  and  watched,  while  they  passed  the 
days  together  down  at  Eltham,  or,  regardless  of  the  keen 
frosts  of  February,  explored  together  the  environs  of  Rock- 
ville  and  the  adjacent  villages,  or  turned  their  steps  towards 
the  crowded  dwellings  of  the  poor,  and  forgot  for  the  time 
their  own  troubles  in  studying  the  sorrowful  phenomena  of 
men  upon  whom,  from  their  very  infancy,  the  necessity  of 


POVERTY    AND     LIFE.  279 

mere  bodily  want  had  pressed  like  an  iron  wheel,  leaving 
no  time  nor  thought  for  any  thing  else. 

It  is  a  very  beautiful  and  hopeful  creed  —  that  which  we 
hear  so  often  from  the  press  and  pulpit  in  these  days  —  that 
from  the  hard,  rugged  soil  of  poverty  spring  the  noblest 
natures ;  that  beneath  its  stern  discipline  are  developed  the 
highest  types  of  men :  we  thank  God  that  it  is  so.  But 
there  is  a  poverty  which  is  death  ;  no  man  can  have  studied 
life  without  seeing  it  —  the  inheritance  of  wretchedness,  and 
guilt,  and  crime ;  the  dreadful  growth  of  man's  selfishness 
and  indifference ;  a  race  of  children  abandoned  from  their 
birth  to  a  condition  worse  than  that  of  the  animals  ;  human 
beings  gifted  with  intelligence,  yet  into  whose  dark  minds 
no  hope  or  wish  beyond  the  satisfaction  of  mere  animal 
wants  ever  finds  its  way ;  who  lack  even  the  softening, 
humanizing  touch  of  sorrow  and  memory  ! 

How  shall  these  "  conquer  circumstance  "  ?  —  these,  who 
know  not  the  meaning  of  the  word !  How  develop  a  noble 
character  from  a  state  like  this  ?  It  cannot  be ;  neither 
God  nor  man  expects  it.  But  not  upon  the  all-wise  Father 
must  rest  the  blame,  but  upon  the  human  selfishness  that 
permits  such  a  state  of  things. 

Fred  was  finally  persuaded  that  his  aunt  Monroe  was 
right ;  it  must  be  the  harassing  care  of  the  school  that  was 
wearing  upon  his  cousin,  and  he  quietly  laid  his  plans  for 
the  future. 

Just  at  this  time,  they  were  surprised  by  a  visit  from 
Willie.  He  had  left  Mr.  Wallace's  employ,  he  said,  some 


280  SIBYL. 

weeks  since,  for  a  place  much  more  to  his  mind  ;  but  "  busi 
ness  was  slow,"  and  he  thought  he  would  run  down  and 
make  the  acquaintance  of  his  cousin. 

Fred  was  much  pleased  to  meet  him.  He  had  called  at 
Mr.  Wallace's  store  once  or  twice,  when  passing  through 
the  city,  during  the  past  year ;  but  it  so  happened  that  his 
cousin  had  always  been  out,  and  therefore  they  had  never 
met  until  now. 

Willie  had  always  figured  largely  in  Fred's  castle  building, 
but  like  Sibyl,  he  was  disappointed  in  him.  He  was  very 
different  from  the  Willie  of  his  dreams ;  and  though  at  times 
half  envying  the  graceful  ease  of  his  manner,  he  could  not 
be  blind  to  the  selfishness  and  low  sentiments  it  covered, 
and  he  began  to  question  whether  Sibyl's  present  mood  was 
not  in  some  way  connected  with  her  brother.  A  circum 
stance  soon  occurred  to  deepen  this  impression. 

It  was  the  morning  after  Willie  left  for  New  York. 
Fred  and  Sibyl  were  going  out  for  a  walk,  when  Amanda 
called  Sibyl  back,  saying  the  butcher  was  in  the  kitchen, 
and  desired  to  speak  with  her.  With  a  pleasant  jest  about 
the  cares  of  housekeepers,  Fred  turned  into  the  breakfast 
room,  and  renewed  his  chat  with  his  aunt,  while  Sibyl  pro 
ceeded  to  the  kitchen. 

Presently  she  returned,  saying,  as  she  passed  into  the 
parlor,  that  "  Mr.  Wait,  poor  man,  had  become  entangled 
in  some  unfortunate  lawsuit,  and  needed  all  the  money  he 
could  raise." 

A  few  moments  later,  she  called  them  to  her.    "  See," 


SIBYL'S    MONEY    STOLEN.  281 

she  said,  pointing  to  an  open  drawer  in  her  writing  desk, 
"  some  one  has  broken  in  here,  and  taken  my  money.  I 
have  only  some  change  left." 

"  Broken  in  here  !  Stolen  !  "  cried  the  mother,  looking 
round  in  affright,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  the  thief  lurking 
in  some  dim  corner  of  the  room,  for  the  blinds  were  still 
closed ;  "  I  can't  believe  it.  Are  you  sure  you  put  your 
money  there,  child  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  always  keep  it  here,  as  you  know  ;  though 
when  I  opened  the  drawer  for  some  to  pay  Mrs.  Hall,  the 
other  day,  Willie  warned  me  that  it  was  not  a  safe  place." 

"  Ah,  that  was  like  him ;  he  has  always  so  much  fore 
thought." 

"  It  was  here  last  night,"  4>egan  Sibyl,  again  examining 
the  few  papers  which  the  drawer  contained.  "  I  saw  it 
when  I  came  here  for  that  sample  of  silk  for  Mrs.  Ash- 
mon.  The  silk  was  in  my  port-monnaie.  You  remember ; 
I  spoke  of  it,  mamma." 

"  Yes,  it  was  just  after  "Willie  left ;  but  surely  no  one 
could  have  come  in  here  after  that.  I  sat  in'  the  dining- 
room  with  Amanda  while  you  were  gone  to  Mrs.  Ashmon's, 
to  be  sure ;  but  we  should  have  heard  the  noise  if  any  one 
had  come  in  —  it  was  so  still  here.  I'm  sure  I  shall  never 
dare  stay  alone  a  moment  again  !  "  and  Mrs.  Monroe  grew 
pale  with  fear. 

Fred  had  not  spoken  hitherto,  having  been  busily  en 
gaged  in  examining  the  lock  of  the  drawer,  and  the  appear 
ance  of  the  room  ;  but  he  now  called  to  his  cousin. 


282  SIBYL. 

"  See  here,  Sibyl !  This  lock  was  forced,  and  the 
person  who  took  your  money  probably  entered  here ; " 
and  he  pointed  to  the  window  nearest  the  book  case.  It  was 
open  the  width  of  two  or  three  inches  —  a  circumstance  that 
she  had  overlooked  on  her  first  entrance  into  the  room, 
the  blinds,  as  we  have  said,  being  shut. 

Fred  raised  it  still  farther,  and  swung  back  the  blind. 
As  he  did  so,  a  white  object  gleamed  upon  the  carpet  at  his 
feet.  He  recognized  it  at  once.  It  was  the  beautiful  ivory- 
handled  knife  over  which  Willie  had  bragged  so  much 
during  his  visit,  and  which  he  was  certain  he  had  seen  in 
his  hand  when  he  accompanied  him  down  to  the  hotel  the 
previous  evening,  from  whence  he  was  going  to  drive  over 
with  an  acquaintance  to  Hitch<5ock's,  in  order  to  take  pas 
sage  in  the  night  train  of  cars. 

He  had  insisted  upon  going  early.  Elsie  had  remon 
strated,  and  now,  like  lightning,  a  startling  suspicion  flashed 
upon  Fred's  thought.  Still  he  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  attempt  to  conceal  it,  and  the  object  that  occasioned  it ; 
but  he  was  too  late,  for,  at  his  first  movement,  the  mother 
saw  it,  and  cried  out,  — 

"  Take  care,  take  care,  Fred !  There  is  Willie's  knife 
on  the  carpet  at  your  feet.  You  came  near  stepping  upon 
it.  He  must  have  forgotten  it.  I'm  so  sorry !  " 

She  picked  it  up,  while  Fred  and  Sibyl  stood  gazing  into 
each  other's  face  without  a  word.  They  did  not  need 
words  ;  the  look  was  enough. 

"  Why.  what  ails  vou,  children  ?"  exclaimed  the  mother, 


SIBYL'S    MONEY    STOLEN.  283 

suddenly  looking  up  from  what  was  to  her  but  a  pleasant 
memento  of  her  absent  child.  "  Sibyl,  are  you  going  to 
faint  ?  You  are  pale  as  a  sheet.  Fred,  bring  the  cologne 
from  the  table  in  my  room  —  my  bedroom,  I  say !  What 
ails  the  boy  ?  You  look  as  frightened  as  Sibyl.  One 
would  think  we  had  lost  a  million  of  dollars  instead  of  a 
paltry  twenty.  I  thought  you  had  more  firmness,  children. 
I  wouldn't  fret  about  such  a  sum." 

"  You  are  right,  mamma,"  said  Sibyl,  striving  to  command 
her  voice.  "  We  will  say  no  more  about  it.  Fred,  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  look  to  you  to  pay  Mr.  Wait's  bill." 

He  placed  his  purse  in  her  hands,  while  her  mother 
added,  cheerfully,  — 

"  And  I  shall  look  to  you  to  hunt  out  the  truth  of  this 
matter,  nephew.  It  is  well  you  are  here.  I  don't  care  so 
much  for  the  money ;  but  to  have  any  one  entering  your 
house  in  this  way !  Ugh !  I  shall  never  sleep  another 
wink  until  the  wretch  is  brought  to  justice  ! " 

"  I  think  —  will  it  not  be  best  to  say  nothing  about  it 
ma'ma  ?  It  is,  as  you  say,  but  a  trifle.  I  trust  it  may  save 
whoever  took  it  from  a  greater  crime."  Sibyl  spoke 
hastily  and  sadly. 

"  Why,  Sibyl  Monroe,  how  foolishly  you  talk  !  If  un 
punished,  it  is  much  more  likely  to  lead  to  greater  crimes ! 
I  am  surprised  at  you  !  " 

Sibyl  felt  keenly  the  truth  of  her  mother's  words.  It  was 
very  hard  for  her  to  speak  with  a  steady  voice,  or  even  with 
out  tears,  as  she  said, — 


284  SIBYL. 

"  It  may  be ;  but  on  one  other  occasion  you  thought 
differently  —  when  Willie  was  here  before,  mamma." 

"  0,  yes ;  I  remember  —  when  he  was  so  unfortunate 
as  to  have  his  money  stolen.  But  that  is  a  different 
affair." 

They  did  not  go  out  that  day.  They  did  not  speak  their 
thoughts,  but  rather  avoided  it,  like  people  who,  by  the 
bedside  of  a  beloved  friend,  sit  watching  for  some  terrible 
crisis,  talking  in  the  low,  hushed  tones  which  one  uncon 
sciously  assumes  at  such  a  time. 

But  at  night,  when  they  sat  together  alone,  with  the  old 
childish  freedom  Sibyl  laid  her  face  on  Fred's  shoulder  and 
wept  bitterly.  She  remembered  the  time  when  her  father 
had  acknowledged  his  guilt,  but  then  she  was  a  mere  child  ; 
her  tears  had  been  for  herself  rather  than  him ;  now  she  felt 
in  full  all  the  sin  and  the  ruin  it  included. 

"  Sibyl,  don't  cry  so.  It  may  be  that  we  are  wrong,  after 
all.  He  could  not  have  needed  the  money,  for  it  is  only 
two  days  since,  that  I  lent  him  fifteen  dollars,"  said  Fred, 
embodying  in  words,  for  the  first  time,  the  thought  which 
haunted  them.  "  I  may  be  mistaken  about  the  knife.  He 
might  have  dropped  it.  There  are  so  many  others  more 
likely  to  have  done  this  ; "  and  thus  he  went  on  multiplying 
suggestions,  until  Sibyl  felt  grateful,  if  not  calm. 

But  the  dreadful  thought  was  still  there.  She  knew  by 
the  sharp  pain  that  shot  through  her  at  the  sight  of  the  ele 
gant  knife  which  lay  on  a  stand  close  by  her  mother's 


SIBYL'S    MONEY    STOLEN.  285 

pillow,  when  she  went  in  as  usual  to  see  that  all  was  right 
in  her  room,  before  retiring  to  rest. 

So  differently  may  a  trifling  object  affect  two  hearts 
beneath  the  same  roof. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE  dissatisfaction  that  had  been  so  long  fermenting  in 
the  hearts  of  Mr.  Wentworth's  operatives  at  length  reached 
its  height.  At  the  close  of  the  month  of  February,  a  depu 
tation  waited  upon  him  with  a  memorial,  stating  their 
grievances,  and  their  determination  to  work  no  longer  at 
the  old  prices. 

He  listened  quietly  and  attentively  to  the  close,  —  so 
quietly  that  one  or  two  of  the  committee,  who  had  recently 
entered  his  establishment,  fancied  their  point  won ;  but 
others,  who  knew  him  better,  were  not  at  all  surprised  when 
he  asked,  at  the  close, — 

"  Is  this  all,  gentlemen  ?  "  and,  on  being  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  said  in  that  quick,  brief,  determined  tone,  that 
admits  of  no  change,  — 

"  Then  our  business  is  at  an  end.  You  have  well  and 
truly  said  that  you  have  the  right  to  regulate  the  price  of 
your  own  labor.  I  trust  you  will  not  dispute  my-  right  to 
say  whether  I  will  give  it  or  no.  I  shall  not.  So  the 
relation  between  us  is  at  an  end.  Good  morning,  gentle 
men." 

They  had  thought  to  move  him.  They  might  just  as 

(286) 


A     STRIKE.  287 

well  have  thought  to  move  a  rock  ;  and  the  result  of  their 
interview  was  received  by  the  outsiders  with  groans  and 
execrations,  all  the  more  deep,  because  the  operatives  in 
the  mills  up  the  stream  had  followed  their  example,  and 
they  knew  that  Mr.  "Wentworth's  decision  would  largely  in 
fluence  the  other  mill  owners. 

"  If  they  are  so  learned  in  all  that  relates  to  our  busi 
ness,"  said  Mr.  Wentworth  to  Fred  Monroe,  when  discuss 
ing  this  affair,  "  they  should  know  that  the  employer  has 
rights  as  well  as  the  employees  ;  that  if  the  times  are  hard 
for  them,  they  are  not  less  hard  for  us." 

"  Yes  ;  but  have  you  been  among  them  of  late  ?  There 
is  much  suffering,  and  I  fear  these  reckless  foreigners. 
They  think  you  influence  the  other  capitalists,  and  they  will 
spare  no  pains  to  excite  their  whole  class  against  you." 

"  Let  them.  I  have  no  fear.  If  they  had  asked  this 
change  as  a  favor,  though  I  might  not,  in  the  present  state 
of  the  market,  have  been  able  to  grant  it,  I  might  have  enter 
tained  it  in  a  different  spirit.  But  I  will  never  be  dictated 
to  by  any  one." 

"  If  you  would  but  tell  them  this,"  began  Fred  ;  but  the 
gentleman  interrupted  him. 

"  No,  no,  my  boy.  I  should  only  be  the  greedy  capitalist 
who  wishes  to  grind  them,  'soul  and  body,  into  profit. 
Words  are  idle  ;  but  if  they  need  aid " 

He  turned  to  his  desk,  —  for  it  was  in  the  counting  room 
that  this  conversation  took  place,  —  and  handed  over  to 
Fred  several  bank  notes,  saying,  — 


288  SIBYL. 

"  Take  them  to  your  cousin.  She  is  much  among  these 
people,  and  will  know  how  to  apply  it." 

"  They  do  not  know  him,  Sibyl,"  said  Fred,  as  he  related 
this  conversation  and  gave  her  the  money  ;  "  and  he  takes 
no  pains  to  make  them  know  him ;  if  he  did,  it  would  all 
be  right.  He  has  such  a  kind  heart  at  bottom.  Only  to 
day  I  heard  him  tell  Dr.  Strong  to  look  to  him  for  his  pay 
for  attending  John  Morrissey's  child ;  and  John  is  one  of 
those  who  are  loudest  in  denouncing  him." 

But  eleemosynary  aid,  even  if  Mr.  Wentworth  had  given 
his  fortune,  could  not  remedy  this  evil ;  after  a  few  weeks 
of  idleness,  many  of  those  who  had  been  the  loudest  and 
most  active  in  forcing  this  point,  were  the  first  to  give  in 
and  apply  for  work  at  the  old  terms ;  and  the  burden  fell 
upon  those  who  had  deprecated  and  delayed  the  movement 
as  long  as  possible. 

Seemingly,  things  went  on  as  usual ;  but  the  anger,  pas 
sion,  and  ill  will,  that  had  sprung  up  beneath  this  state  of 
things,  no  one  could  rightly  estimate. 

The  month  of  March  closed  in  with  violent,  driving 
storms  of  rain,  until  the  earth  seemed  like  a  great  sponge  ; 
and  every  little  mountain  brook,  swollen  to  a  torrent,  came 
pouring  into  the  narrow  valley  to  add  its  mite  to  the  mill 
stream,  which  already,  by  the  increase  of  its  own  waters, 
pressed  hard  upon  the  dams  which  hemmed  it  in. 

These  rains  were  followed  by  a  week  of  dim,  dirty,  misty 
weather,  and  a  warm,  lazy,  south-west  wind,  that  rotted  the 
ice  above,  and  sent  it  down  in  great,  muddy,  jagged-edged, 


THE     FRESHET.  289 

porous-looking  cakes,  wedged  and  piled  together,  and  driv 
ing  before  them  fragments  of  bridges  and  dams,  and  cross 
ing  poles,  until  the  river  seemed  in  some  places  to  be 
covered  with  a  great  raft. 

No  such  freshet  had  been  known  for  years  ;  the  yards 
and  cellars,  even  the  lower  floors  of  the  houses  near  the 
river,  were  invaded  by  the  water,  and  the  families  fled  to 
their  neighbors,  or  to  the  upper  stories,  to  await  the  result. 

The  dams  above  Mr.  Wentworth's  were  gone  or  much 
injured,  and  great  fears  were  felt  for  the  safety  of  his. 

All  the  afternoon  a  crowd  was  collected  upon  the  bank, 
watching  the  rising  flood,  and  speculating  upon  the  chances 
of  its  safety.  It  was  a  splendid  sight,  that  great  expanse 
of  water  that  came  sweeping  on  over  the  dam,  carrying 
with  it  great  ice  cakes,  that  splintered  and  split  into  a  thou 
sand  parts  as  they  fell  into  the  frothy  whirlpool  below.  But 
the  dam  stood  the  test,  and  the  people  who  lived  down  the 
stream,  between  whose  houses  and  the  hungry  flood  that 
was  the  only  barrier,  returned  to  their  rest  with  the  pleas 
ing  hope  that  the  worst  of  the  pressure  was  over. 

But  they  were  mistaken  ;  they  were  soon  roused  by  the 
ringing  of  the  factory  bells,  and  the  cry  that  the  dam  was 
going.  People  hurried  through  the  streets,  some  half 
dressed,  some  with  lanterns,  which  only  made  the  dim  light 
of  the  March  moonbeams  still  more  dim,  and  gave  a  sort 
of  unearthly,  ghastly  look  to  the  faces  of  the  women  and 
children  that  showed  themselves  at  the  windows,  or  gath 
ered  in  groups  about  the  doorways.  All  Rockville  seemed 
19 


290  SIBYL. 

to  be  on  foot,  and  Fred  had  early  proceeded  to  the  spot, 
leaving  Sibyl  and  her  mother  anxiously  waiting  his  return. 

At  length  he  came.  The  jam  of  ice  in  the  narrows 
above  the  bridge  had  suddenly  given  way,  and  taken  the 
bridge  with  it ;  but  the  dam  still  held  firm,  and  there  was 
every  reason  to  suppose  it  would  continue  to  do  so. 

"  It's  a  grand  sight,  Sibyl,"  he  went  on.  "  Get  your 
shawl  and  bonnet,  and  come  out  with  me.  Will  you  not 
come,  aunt  ?  Miss  Drummond,  Mrs.  Sterling,  and  her 
girls,  and  Miss  Greyling,  were  there  when  I  left.  There  is 
a  fine  view  from  the  counting  room  windows." 

Mrs.  Monroe  declined  going  out,  but  Sibyl  gladly  accept 
ed  the  invitation,  and  soon  joined  the  group  of  ladies  who 
were  watching  the  mad  waters  as  they  dashed  over  the  dam. 

Occasionally,  as  the  bearers  of  the  lanterns  shifted  them 
about,  Sibyl  could  distinguish  the  figure  of  Mr.  Wentworth 
among  the  crowd,  and  sometimes  catch  his  quick,  brief 
tones,  as  he  gave  his  men  some  order  or  precaution  con 
nected  with  the  safety  of  the  dam ;  and  always  by  his  side 
was  Fred,  like  an  attendant  spirit. 

Presently,  the  latter  made  his  appearance  in  the  count 
ing  room,  saying,  — 

"  There  is  another  large  lot  of  ice  coming  down,  ladies. 
If  you  will  just  step  out  upon  the  bank  below  the  dam,  you 
will  see  it  come  over  to  the  best  advantage.  Mr.  Went 
worth  thinks  it  perfectly  safe,"  he  added,  seeing  them  hesi 
tate. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  opposite  end  of  the  building,  down 


WATCHING    THE    FLOOD.  291 

a  flight  of  stairs,  to  a  spot  on  the  edge  of  the  water  that 
commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  fall. 

The  whole  space  between  them  and  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  some  two  rods  wide,  was  now  covered  with  water, 
and  for  a  time  Sibyl  could  not  keep  her  eyes  from  the 
writhing,  boiling  caldron  just  below  the  dam,  where  the 
water  whirled  up  in  great  silvery  plumes,  or,  like  restless 
.serpents,  wreathed  around  the  sharp,  black  rocks,  hissing  in 
anger,  or  crept  slyly  away  under  long,  undulating  threads  of 
white  foam,  to  undermine  posts  in  fences,  houses,  and  sheds, 
and  eat  beneath  the  sandy  banks,  making  new  channels, 
until,  wearied  out,  it  spread  itself  forth  in  a  great  silvery 
sea,  and  went  on  its  way  at  a  more  tranquil  pace. 

Mr.  Wentworth  himself  had  joined  them,  when  Sibyl 
looked  up,  and  at  a  given  signal  from  above,  Fred  ex 
claimed,  — 

"  Now,  ladies,  they  are  coming ! " 

Mr.  Wentworth  stood  some  few  paces  in  advance  of  the 
others,  on  the  very  verge  of  the  stream;  and,  as  Sibyl 
looked  up,  a  stone,  or  piece  of  iron,  sent  by  some  hand 
above  the  dam,  and  aimed  directly  at  his  head,  came  hur 
tling  through  the  air.  Instinctively  springing  forward,  she 
raised  her  arm  to  ward  it  off.  It  struck  her  near  the  shoul 
der,  and  sent  her  backward  into  the  water. 

A  cry  of  terror  and  agony  broke  from  Fred,  and  the 
next  instant,  both  he  and  Mr.  Wentworth  had  plunged  into 
the  stream.  The  waters  there,  though  quiet  compared  to 
the  whirling  current  in  mid-channel,  were  still  swift  enough 


292  SIBYL. 

to  take  her  downward ;  and  it  was  with  a  mingled  feeling 
of  envy  and  joy  that  Fred  saw  his  strong-armed  competi 
tor  strike  past  him,  and,  seizing  her  by  the  dress,  swim 
downward  to  where  a  comparative  shallow  gave  him  easy 
access  to  the  shore. 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  he  might  have  needed  the  aid 
of  that  strong  arm  himself;  for  the  current  was  fast  draw 
ing  him  downward,  when  he  caught  at  a  piece  of  timber 
lodged  in  the  tangled  roots  of  a  group  of  alders,  and  saved 
himself.  When  he  reached  the  bank,  the  ladies  were  gaz 
ing,  with  wide,  awe-struck  eyes,  upon  the  white  face  of  the 
apparently  dead  girl ;  while  Mr.  TVentworth,  silently  but 
hastily,  wrapped  her  in  the  cloak  which  Fred  had  dropped 
from  his  shoulders  when  he  plunged  into  the  stream. 

"  Home  !  Monroe  !  Run  for  life  !  "  he  said.  "  To  my 
mother's  —  it  is  nearer !  Tell  her  to  have  warm  water 
—  flannels  —  every  thing  ready  !  " 

Fred  started  like  an  arrow ;  and  lifting  Sibyl  in  his  arms 
as  if  she  had  been  a  feather,  Mr.  Wentworth  strode  up 
the  stairs,  followed  by  the  frightened  women. 

His  house  was  not  far  distant  —  there  was  no  time  for 
ceremony,  and  without  heeding  the  words  of  Mrs.  Sterling, 
who  was  the  first  to  find  her  tongue,  he  went  straight  on, 
pressing  his  light  burden  closely  to  his  heart,  as  if  its  rapid 
beating  might  awake  the  still  pulses  of  her  own. 

His  mother  met  him  at  the  door,  and  without  a  word  led 
him  to  the  room  already  prepared,  where  Miss  Greyling 
and  the  servants  were  busy  with  such  restoratives  as 


WILL     SIBYL    LIVE?  293 

Fred's  hasty  warning  had  enabled  them  to  prepare.  It 
was  easy  to  see  by  the  tremulous  working  of  the  lines 
about  the  old  lady's  mouth  that  she  was  unusually  moved ; 
but  nothing  else  betrayed  it,  and  her  voice  was  calm  and 
measured  as  usual,  when  she  said,  as  her  son  laid  down  his 
burden  on  the  sofa, — 

"  Leave  us  now,  Ernest.  This  wet  clothing  must  be 
removed." 

•  He  looked  up  from  the  pale  face  over  which  he  still  hung, 
and  said  almost  reproachfully,  "  Mother,  mother,  do  you 
know  it  was  to  save  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  all,  Ernest.  Young  Monroe  told  us  before  he 
ran  for  Dr.  Strong.  You  must  look  to  yourself  now,  and 
change  those  wet  clothes." 

He  left  the  room,  hurriedly  changed  his  wet  clothes, 
and  returned  to  the  hall ;  the  door  was  still  closed,  and  he 
turned  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Five  minutes  —  ten  —  fifteen  —  what  an  age  they 
seemed !  Where  could  Fred  and  the  doctor  be  ?  They 
listened  —  he  would  go  himself. 

"  Ernest,  my  son  !  " 

«  Mother ! " 

She  read  his  glance,  and  for  one  second  the  proud  wo 
man  bowed  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  there  were 
great  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  looked  up. 

"  It  was  to  save  you,  my  son !     And  she  so  young ! " 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  huskily,  "  she  must  not  die  —  let 
me  see. her." 


294  SIBYL. 

She  no  longer  opposed  him,  and  bending  over  her  pillow, 
he  rubbed  her  cold  hands,  and  gave  his  brief  orders  to  the 
frightened,  discouraged  attendants. 

She  breathes  —  no  —  ah  yes  —  she  moves  —  the  white 
eyelids  tremble  —  the  lips  move  —  and  bending  lower 
and  lower,  he  listens  breathlessly;  there  is  a  low  mur 
mur —  a  word — and,  O,  how  the  quick,  truth-telling 
blood  rushes  to  his  cheek  and  brow,  and  his  whole  frame 
thrills  with  a  keen  sense  of  joy  !  It  is  his  name,  and  with 
the  crimson  flush  still  on  his  cheek,  he  looks  up  to  meet 
the  eyes  of  Fred  Monroe,  who  has  silently  entered  with 
the  physician,  to  read  there  —  wonder,  surprise,  and  disap 
pointment. 

He  relinquished  his  place  to  the  doctor,  and  coming 
round  to  where  Fred  stood,  held  out  his  hand.  The  boy 
grasped  it,  and  turning  his  head  away  as  if  he  would  hide 
the  struggle  going  on  within  him,  said, — 

"  God  bless  you,  sir !     You  saved  her ! " 

"  And  you  would  have  done  the  same  in  a  moment  more 
_but " 

Fred  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish  his  sentence,  for,  at 
that  instant,  Sibyl  slowly  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  round 
the  room. 

He  sprang  forward. 

"Sibyl  — dear  Sibyl!" 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  held  out  her  hand.  He  took  it, 
but  he  had  no  power  to  fix  her  glance,  and  it  wandered  on 
uneasily,  until  it  rested  upon  Ernest  Wentworth ;  and  he 


WILL     SIBYL     LIVE?  295 

could  not  repress  a  spasm  of  pain,  as  he  saw  the  flush  of 
delight  which  suffused  her  pale  face  when  she  saw  that  he 
was  safe. 

Did  Mr.  Wentworth  note  it  too  ?  He  came  slowly  for 
ward,  and  would  have  spoken,  but  Dr.  Strong  interfered. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  we  must  have  perfect  quiet. 
As  I  came  in,  I  saw  half  a  dozen  ladies  coming  towards 
the  house.  You  will  best  serve  us  by  going  out  and  pre 
venting  their  coming  in  here,  even  by  barricades  if  need 
be.  But  —  good  Heavens  !" — he  had  laid  his  hand  oil 
Fred's  shoulder  as  he  spoke,  — "  this  fellow  is  yet  in  his 
wet  clothes.  Are  you  mad,  boy  ?  Or  do  you  fancy  you 
have  as  many  lives  as  a  cat  ?  Change  them  at  once,  under 
penalty  of  seeing  me  at  your  bedside  for  the  next  month ! 
See  to  it,  Mr.  Wentworth  !  " 

"  Will  she  live  ?  Is  she  out  of  danger,  doctor  ?  "  whis 
pered  Fred,  scarcely  heeding  the  good  man's  words. 

"  Live.  yc?.  Much  likelier  to  than  you  are,  if  you  are 
going  on  this  fashion.  Away  with  you  at  once  ! " 

"  Then  I  may  tell  her  mother  ! " 

He  left  the  room  ;  but,  almost  before  he  had  closed  the 
door,  Mr.  Wentworth's  hand  was  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Monroe,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  you  must  not  go  as  you 
are  !  Forgive  me,  that  I  have  not  thought  of  you  before. 
I  will  send  some  one  to  Mrs.  Monroe.  See,  you  are  trem 
bling  from  the  chill  now.  Come  to  my  room  !  I  changed 
my  own  clothes  half  an  hour  since,  and  yet  it  would  not 
have  hurt  me." 


296  SIBYL. 

"  It  would  not  have  hurt  me!  "  The  words  were  uttered 
in  a  tone  of  the  most  sincere  interest,  but  they  jarred  so 
discordantly,  so  painfully,  upon  the  sensitive  heart  of  the 
youth,  that  they  seemed  in  that  mood  like  a  pgean  of  tri 
umph,  and  he  turned  abruptly  away,  and  hurried  down 
stairs,  out  into  the  street. 

Even  here  he  heard  them  —  holding  up  the  contrast 
between  him  and  that  iron-nerved,  athletic  man  ;  and  how 
poor,  and  weak,  and  contemptible  seemed  the  life 
which,  like  his,  was  held  at  the  mercy  of  every  change 
of  weather ! 

O,  there  are  moments  when  the  physical  seems  all  in 
all,  and  we  forget  that  it  is  the  spirit  alone  which  giveth 
life. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A  VIOLENT  hemorrhage  succeeded  that  night's  expo 
sure,  and  for  many  days  Fred  Monroe's  life  hung  upon  a 
hair. 

"  Not  one  word  of  his  danger  to  Miss  Sibyl,"  had  been 
Dr.  Strong's  orders ;  and  even  the  garrulous  Elsie  was 
frightened  into  obedience.  Indeed,  she  was  almost  para 
lyzed  with  fear.  But  she  strove  to  do  her  best,  and  she 
was  in  all  things  energetically  supported  by  Amanda  Ste 
phens.  Fred,  notwithstanding  their  frequent  war  of  words, 
had  been  Amanda's  childish  ideal,  and  she  now  watched 
over  him  with  unwearied  care.  Mrs.  Monroe  could  scarcely 
believe  that  the  thoughtful,  efficient  nurse,  who  moved 
around  the  room  so  quietly,  and  comprehended  with  such 
ready  tact  the  physician's  wishes,  could  be  the  woman  whose 
heavy  steps,  abrupt  manners,  and  blunt  speech  so  often 
jarred  upon  her  sensitive  nerves. 

Mr.  Wentworth  called  daily,  and  daily  the  sufferer  roused 
himself  to  send  back  some  cheering  message  to  Sibyl. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him,  doctor  ?  "  said  Mr.  Went 
worth,  one  morning,  as  they  left  the  room  together ;  "  it 
seems  to  me  that  he  deceives  himself." 

(297) 


298  SIBYL. 

"  He  has  not  many  years  before  him  —  possibly  not  many 
months,"  was  the  reply. 

Ernest  Wentworth  looked  into  the  grave,  sad  face  of  the 
doctor  a  moment,  then  turned  away,  and  sent  for  Master  Fenn. 

The  old  man  came,  and  it  was  from  him  that  Sibyl  first 
learned  her  cousin's  danger.  She  had  been  tended  with 
the  most  watchful  care  by  old  Mrs.  Wentworth,  not  so  much 
for  herself,  as  because  she  had  saved  the  life  of  her  son. 

She  was  too  feeble  to  analyze  her  own  feelings  or  those 
of  her  friends.  She  did  not  even  ask  the  motives  of  this 
jealous  care  on  the  old  lady's  part,  which  permitted  no  one 
to  wait  on  her  but  herself  and  Winnie.  It  was  enough  to 
know  that  it  was  so ;  that  for  once,  she  had  some  one  ready 
to  relieve  her  of  every  care,  and  she  yielded  to  the  pleasant 
dream. 

Of  Mr.  Wentworth  she  saw  little ;  after  that  eventful 
night,  he  had  seemed  content  to  leave  her  in  his  mother's 
hands,  and  though  his  manner,  when  he  did  come  in  to  ask 
after  her  health,  was  marked  by  that  delicacy  and  consider 
ation  so  winning  when  combined  with  the  conscious  strength 
of  manhood,  it  was  at  the  same  time  more  than  usually 
reserved. 

"  It  would  have  been  all  the  same  to  him  had  I  been 
drowned,"  thought  Sibyl ;  and  the  thought  was  confirmed 
when  she  insisted  upon  returning  home  with  Master  Rich 
ard,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Wentworth's  commands  to  the  con 
trary,  and  he  turned  from  the  window,  where  he  had  been 
standing,  and  said,  in  that  cold,  indifferent  tone,  — 


THE     INVALID.  299 

"  Do  not  urge  Miss  Monroe,  mother ;  we  have  no  right 
to  keep  her  from  her  friends." 

It  was  well  that  it  was  so.  It  helped  her  to  take  up 
again  her  old  duties,  and  even  to  cross  hands  with  him  over 
the  couch  of  her  suffering  cousin,  and  feel  grateful  for  his 
firm,  unwearied  friendship. 

Orphan  as  he  was,  there  was  no  lack  of  loving  friends 
about  Fred  Monroe's  bed ;  and  when  he  was  able  to  leave 
it,  Master  Richard's  house  was  open  to  him ;  and  here,  with 
in  sight  of  his  birthplace,  while  the  midsummer  sun  ripened 
the  fruits  of  the  earth  for  the  harvest,  he  waited  for  the 
slow  coming  of  the  reaper,  Death,  while  his  face  caught 
more  and  more  of  that  clear,  transparent,  moonlight  look, 
which  seems  a  reflection  from  the  brightness  of  the  world 
towards  which  he  was  going. 

Mrs.  Monroe,  Amanda,  Mrs.  Wentworth,  and  little  Win 
nie  were  frequent  visitors  ;  for  there  was  nothing  painful  or 
disagreeable  in  his  condition ;  but  Sibyl  never  left  him. 
There  were  no  words  about  this  ;  no  one  —  not  even  Elsie 
—  remonstrated  with  her ;  they  felt  it  must  be  so,  though 
no  one  knew  his  heart  but  Master  Fenn. 

The  stormy  autumnal  equinox  had  confined  him  many 
days  to  the  house ;  but  October  came,  and  in  its  mellow  sun 
shine  and  genial  atmosphere  he  seemed  to  gather  strength. 

"  I  must  go  through  the  woods,  and  down  to  the  mill 
pond,  once  more,"  he  said,  one  sunny  day,  turning  his  eyes 
from  the  landscape  without,  which  he  had  been  watching 
silently,  to  Miss  Silence's  face.  "  You  will  not  refuse  me  ! " 


300  SIBYL. 

She  could  not,  even  though  she  shook  her  head  sadly, 
and  the  tears  came  in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  him  pass 
along  the  woodland  path,  supported  by  Master  Richard  and 
Sibyl.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  hill  side  bars,  he  was 
glad  to  stop  ;  and  sitting  down  upon  the  rock,  which  Sibyl 
cushioned  with  a  spare  shawl,  he  said,  sadly, — 

"  I  shall  not  see  the  pond  to-day,  but  I  can  hear  the 
sound  of  the  wheel,  and  the  dash  of  the  water ;  and  yonder 
was  our  foot  path,  Sibyl —  it  is  almost  grown  over  with 
grass  now.  How  the  old  days  come  back !  " 

It  was,  indeed,  a  day  for  silent  memories.  The  dear  old 
woods,  which  had  shadowed  their  childish  wanderings,  each 
tree  familiar  as  a  friend,  stood  up  amid  the  silent,  solemn 
sunshine,  in  the  gorgeous  robes  of  early  autumn ;  across 
the  fields,  gay  with  the  delicate  blossoms  of  the  starwort, 
goldenrod,  yarrow,  and  fragrant  everlasting,  the  sunshine 
slept  in  long  golden  bars,  crossed,  here  and  there,  with  the 
deep,  black  shadows  of  the  hemlocks  and  cedars,  around 
whose  trunks,  even  to  the  very  topmost  bough,  crept  the 
five-leaved  ivy,  like  a  flame  of  fire ;  below,  the  bowl-shaped 
valley  was  filled  with  golden  haze,  and  in  the  distance, 
with  the  stern  outline  softened  to  a  most  blessed  benignity, 
the  great  granite  face  looked  down  upon  them ;  while  far 
in  the  distance,  the  mist-enveloped  horizon  melted  into  the 
blue  sky  above. 

A  day  for  solemn  memories !  So  calm  and  still ;  each 
sound  so  remote  —  so  dream-like  ;  the  stray  leaves  floating 
so  slowly  to  the  ground ;  the  whirr  of  the  partridge ;  the 
solemn  pace^of  the  robin,  pecking  at  the  red  capsules  of  the 


THE    INVALID.  301 

wild  roses ;  the  whistle  of  the  quail,  mocking  the  plough- 
boy  on  the  opposite  hill ;  the  monotonous,  measured  beat  of 
the  flail  in  Culver's  barn  ;  even  the  shrill  cry  of  the  barn 
yard  fowls,  seemed  in  that  atmosphere  unreal,  phantom- 
like,  a  part  of  the  great  world  of  dreams,  through  which 
memory  wanders  like  the  gentle  Moabitess  gathering  up 
the  sheaves  of  the  past ;  joy  and  sorrow,  trouble  and  wrong, 
many  hued  and  many  formed,  like  the  leaves  of  the  forest 
trees. 

There  was  one  hope  which  had  been  softening  to  a  mem 
ory  all  through  the  summer  months.  Should  he  not  speak 
to  her  of  it  now  ?  now  that  he  had  learned,  by  God's  mer 
cy,  how  — 


" Hope  can  smile  at  length 

On  other  hopes  gone  from  us  "  ? 

Master  Richard  had  stolen  silently  away.  Sibyl  sat  gaz 
ing  clown  at  the  old  Monroe  farm  house,  thinking  of  all  the 
air  castles  they  had  built  about  it.  Fred  did  not  need  the 
tears  that  dimmed  her  eyes  to  tell  him  her  thought,  as  she 
looked  up ;  and  he  answered  it  with  a  faint  smile,  — 

"  It  will  never  be,  Sibyl.  I  shall  never  realize  my  boy 
ish  dream.  My  home  must  soon  be  elsewhere.  '  In  my 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions ; '  it  is  pleasant  to  know 
that,  Sibyl." 

She  could  not  feel  it  then,  not  with  all  those  sorrowful 
thoughts  crowding  upon  her ;  but  to  him  it  seemed  a  reality, 
and  while  she  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands  and  wept 
sorrowfully,  he  spoke  to  her  of  the  past  —  of  the  hope  that 
had  arisen  in  his  heart  on  that  very  spot,  on  the  night  of 


302  SIBYL. 

their  expulsion  from  their  home,  of  all  that  it  had  been  to 
him,  and,  without  mentioning  Mr.  Wentworth,  very  delicate 
ly  let  her  see  how  truly  he  had  read  her  heart. 

"  Do  not  feel  so  sad,  Sibyl  —  do  not  weep  so  ;  it  is  past 
now.  That  which  was  such  a  terrible  pain  to  me  six 
months  ago  has  become  a  softened  memory.  Had  it  been 
otherwise,  as  I  hoped,  life  would  have  been  too  dear  —  death 
so  much  harder  to  bear.  You  will  not  cease  to  love  me ; 
you  will  not  forget  me.  You  will  come  sometimes,  in  your 
happiness,  and  stand  with  those  you  love  around  my  grave." 

"  Happiness  !  O  Fred,  can  I  ever  be  happy  again  ?  " 
He  felt  her  shiver  and  tremble  with  the  sudden  conscious 
ness  of  all  the  pain  and  sorrow  she  must  have  cost  him ; 
and  drawing  her  hand  in  his,  he  said,  — 

"  Don't  make  me  regret  that  I  have  told  you  this,  Sibyl. 
At  one  time  I  thought  not  to  do  it ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  I 
could  not  die  without  speaking." 

Not  many  days  later,  even  before  the  trees  had  half  cast 
their  leaves,  they  knelt  around  his  death  bed.  Ernest 
Wentworth  was  there,  and  supported  in  his  arms  the  dying 
youth ;  while  old  Master  Fenn  prayed  that  "  His  loving 
kindness,  which  is  better  than  life,"  might  infold  them  all 
in  that  sorrowful  hour. 

"  Better  than  life,"  was  the  low  murmur  the  gentleman 
caught  from  those  stiffening  lips ;  and  he  turned  away  his 
head  to  conceal  his  tears. 

Ay,  then  he  had  found  that  there  was  something  in  life 
worthy  of  tears. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE  mental  struggle  of  the  last  months,  the  silent,  sorrow 
ful  self-reproach,  that,  in  spite  of  her  better  reason,  would 
come  when  she  thought  of  Fred's  confession,  the  anguish  of 
his  loss,  left  Sibyl  very  miserable,  both  in  body  and  mind. 

She  was  "not  ill,"  she  said;  and  she  continued  to  go 
about  her  duties,  but  in  a  kind  of  dull,  stupefied  misery,  dif 
ficult  to  describe,  because  it  is  hueless,  like  a  drear  Novem 
ber  day,  having  neither  light  nor  shadow. 

She  had  no  interest  in  the  world  for  good  or  ill;  she 
stood  apart,  while  it  whirled  on  and  on,  in  a  kind  of  con 
fused  storm  waltz,  offering  no  resting  place,  no  foothold  to  her. 
Why  should  she  attempt  to  take  her  place  there  again  ? 

She  had  lost  hope  and  trust.  Who  has  not,  at  some  time 
in  his  life,  done  the  same  ? 

The  knowledge  that  Fred  had  left  her  the  few  thousands 
he  had  already  realized  from  his  invention,  and  the  exclu 
sive  right  to  all  that  might  accrue  from  it,  roused  her  for  a 
moment. 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  sell  out  your  right,  Sibyl,"  said 
old  Master  Richard,  who  made  this  communication.  "  It  is 
awkward  property  for  a  woman,  and  Mr.  Leffingwell  is  anx 
ious  to  buy  it.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

(303) 


304  SIBYL. 

"  Sell  it  at  once,  and  pay  over  the  proceeds  to  Mr.  Went- 
worth,"  she  said. 

"  He  will  never  accept  the  money,  Sibyl." 

"  He  must !  What  right  has  he  to  refuse  ?  Is  not  my 
father's  memory  as  dear  to  me  as  his  to  him?  and  has  he 
not  devoted  his  life  to  clearing  his  father's  name  from  the 
dishonor  of  bankruptcy  ?  "  she  replied,  impatiently. 

It  is  well  said  that  the  providences  that  create  us,  that 
wait  and  watch  to  mould  us  into  the  image  of  the  Highest, 
do  not  always  wear  angel  faces.  They -are  often  rough  and 
stern ;  too  painful,  even  after  years  have  unfolded  to  us 
their  true  traits,  to  be  dwelt  upon  with  pleasure.  Some 
such  still  awaited  Sibyl. 

One  stormy,  winter  evening,  as  she  sat  alone  in  the  par 
lor,  long  after  her  mother  and  Amanda  had  retired,  she  was 
startled  by  a  noise  without,  as  if  some  one  rapidly  turned 
the  blinds.  She  lifted  her  head  and  listened ;  presently  the 
movement  was  repeated,  and  she  fancied  she  heard  some 
one  speak  her  name.  To  satisfy  herself,  she  arose,  crossed 
the  room,  just  raised  the  sash,  and  asked,  — 

«  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  I ;  for  Heaven's  sake  let  me  in !  and  be  quick 
about  it,  if  you  can." 

She  recognized  the  voice  at  once.  It  was  Willie ;  and 
hastening  to  the  door,  she  gave  him  admittance. 

He  darted  past,  and  when  she  joined  him  by  the  parlor 
stove,  she  was  shocked  at  his  wild,  haggard  look.  Some 
exclamation  rose  to  her  lips,  but  he  interrupted  her  in  a 
tone  scarce  above  a  whisper. 


THE      FUGITIVE.  305 

"  Don't  shriek  out  or  multiply  words,  Sibyl !  I  can  ex 
plain  my  wants  briefly.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  tired,  and 
wet,  and  cold,  and  hungry.  You  must  get  me  some  food  as 
quickly  and  as  quietly  as  possible.  In  the  second  place, 
you  must  let  no  one  know  of  my  arrival  —  above  all, 
mamma.  If  any  one  asks  for  me,  which  is  not  likely,  you 
must  swear  that  I  am  not  here.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

He  might  well  ask.  His  whole  look  and  manner  were 
coarse  and  vehement  as  his  words,  and  she  stared  at  him  in 
astonishment. 

"  Why  must  I  do  this  ?  "  she  said,  at  length. 

"  Because  I  choose  it  —  because  I  am  in  trouble,"  he  said, 
with  a  muttered  oath. 

Quick  as  lightning  a  terrible  suspicion  flashed  upon  her 
mind,  and  she  clasped  her  hands,  crying,  — 

"  O  Willie  !  Willie ! " 

He  seized  her  by  the  arm,  almost  fiercely  —  "  Don't  be  a 
fool,  Sibyl !  You  will  wake  the  whole  house ! "  Then 
catching  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  he  seemed  moved  by  its 
expression,  and  said,  more  gently,  — 

"  Sister,  if  you  are,  I  need  shelter  —  rest.  I  have  not 
slept  in  two  nights.  If  you  can  conceal  me  for  this  one 
night,  you  may  save  us  both  much  trouble.  If  mother 
knows  I  am  here,  her  folly  will  surely  betray  me.  You 
have  only  to  deny  me  to  every  one  that  inquires.  It's  all  I 
ask." 

"  But  that  would  be  false,  brother." 

"  False  ! "  The  oath  that  burst  from  his  lips  would  have 
20 


306  SIBYL. 

startled  a  less  sound  sleeper  than  Elsie  Monroe,  and  even 
he  glanced  hastily  at  the  door  of  her  bedroom,  as  he  went  on. 

"  Would  you  give  me  up  to  shame  ?  Would  you  kill 
her  "  —  and  he  pointed  towards  her  door  —  "  for  a  scruple 
about  a  few  words  ?  You  were  always  selfish,  Sibyl ;  but 
I  did  not  expect  this." 

She  lifted  her  head,  and,  though  her  heart  felt  keenly 
this  unwarranted  taunt,  she  concealed  it,  and  said,  firmly,  — 

"  I  will  do  any  thing  but  lie  for  you,  Willie.  I  do  not 
believe  that  is  necessary.  Will  you  trust  me  ?  " 

"  I  must,"  he  muttered ;  "  besides,  you  forget  I  am 
starving." 

She  placed  before  him  food,  which  he  devoured  eagerly ; 
and  when  his  hunger  was  appeased,  she  led  him  to  her  own 
room,  as  one  least  likely  to  be  invaded  by  the  officers  of  the 
law,  who  she  suspected  would  be  on  his  track.  Besides, 
it  communicated  with  Amanda's  room,  from  whence  it  was 
not  difficult  to  escape  by  means  of  the  shed  roof  which 
adjoined. 

She  explained  this  to  him,  and  for  a  moment  he  seemed 
grateful  for  her  forethought ;  but  as  she  was  turning  away, 
he  said,  — 

"  I  must  have  money,  Sibyl.  I  can  do  nothing  without 
it.  Give  me  what  you  have  in  the  house.  It  is  the  last 
probably  for  which  I  shall  ever  ask." 

She  went  below  for  her  purse.  As  she  unlocked  the 
drawer,  her  mother  called  out  in  that  drawling  tone  peculiar 
to  the  but  half  wakened  sleeper,  — 


THE      FUGITIVE.  307 

"  Sibyl,  who  is  there  ?  " 

"  No  one  but  myself,  mamma." 

"  I  was  dreaming,  then.  I  thought  I  heard  Willie's 
voice.  Go  to  bed,  child.  The  storm  is  terrible." 

Sibyl  waited  until  her  regular  breathing  assured  her 
that  she  again  slept,  before  she  ascended  to  her  brother. 

He  was  leaning  over  the  banisters  in  an  attitude  of  lis 
tening,  and  as  she  met  him,  he  whispered,  angrily,  — 

"  So  you  have  waked  her,  you  dolt !  I  thought  you  had 
more  sense." 

It  was  not  to  spare  their  mother  pain,  but  to  secure  his 
own  safety,  that  he  insisted  upon  keeping  her  in  ignorance  ; 
and  this  thought  brought  the  hot  blood  to  Sibyl's  cheek, 
who  replied,  — 

"  Our  mother  had  been  dreaming  —  dreaming  of  you, 
Willie.  If  I  did  not  tell  her,  it  was  only  to  save  her  a  few 
hours  of  pain.  She  has  a  right  to  know  all,  especially  Avhen 
you  are  concerned." 

The  wretched  youth  quailed  beneath  her  glance ;  but  the 
next  instant  his  eye  flashed  with  a  kind  of  greedy  delight, 
for  she  placed  her  purse  in  his  hands. 

Sibyl  went  down  and  threw  herself  upon  the  sofa,  —  not 
to  sleep  ;  that  was  not  possible,  —  but  to  wait  and  watch  for 
the  morning.  Yet  what  could  that  bring  but  sorrow? 
There  was  a  hardness  and  indifference  about  her  brother 
that  terrified  and  shocked  her. 

She  thought  not  so  much  of  his  danger  as  of  the  crime 
which  had  brought  the  danger;  for  crime  she  knew  it  inu.-t 


308  SIBYL. 

be,  though  he  had  refused  to  tell  her  that.  Her  thoughts 
went  back  to  their  early  days,  even  to  the  time  when  he 
came  to  gladden  her  young  life  —  the  baby  brother  whom 
she  had  worshipped.  Could  this  indeed  be  he?  She 
started  up,  and  stole  stealthily  up  stairs,  as  if  to  convince 
herself;  but  the  half-uttered  oath  with  which  he  started  at 
the  sound  of  her  light  footsteps,  frightened  her,  and  sent 
her  back  to  her  uneasy  couch. 

"  What,  you  up  so  early,  Miss  Sibyl  ?  "  said  Amanda,  when 
she  made  her  appearance  below  at  an  early  hour  the  next 
morning.  "  What's  the  matter  ?  You  look  as  if  you  hadn't 
shut  your  eyes  in  all  night." 

Sibyl  said  something  about  the  storm ;  but  the  faithful 
girl,  whose  watchful  love  amounted  to  a  kind  of  reverence, 
was  not  to  be  deceived.  She  said  nothing  further  just  then, 
but  went  on  with  her  preparations  for  breakfast,  glancing 
occasionally  at  the  pale,  hollow  face  of  her  young  mistress. 

At  last,  putting  down  her  knife,  and,  coming  up  to  Sibyl, 
she  said,  — 

"  There  are  no  two  ways  about  it,  Miss  Sibyl ;  you  are  in 
trouble,  and  it  ain't  about  the  storm  neither.  I  don't  want 
to  push  myself  into  your  affairs,  as  I  used  to  when  we 
were  children,  down  at  Eltham.  I  hope  I  have  learned 
better  manners  since.  Besides,  your  treatment  of  me  only 
makes  me  feel  more  and  more  every  day  the  difference 
between  us.  All  I  want  to  say  is,  if  it  is  any  thing  in  which 
I  can  help  you,  you  have  only  to  speak  the  word." 

The  flashing  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  Sibyl  said, 
gratefully,  — 


AMANDA'S    SYMPATHY.  309 

"  I  know  it,  Amanda  ;  and  there  is  no  one  I  would  trust 
sooner.  But  —  now  I  can  tell  you  only  this  :  I  am  in 
trouble,  and  I  wish  to  keep  it  from  mamma.  You  must 
help  me ;  and  be  sure  and  keep  the  back  and  front  doors 
locked,  and  open  them  to  no  one  until  you  have  asked  me. 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  girl  stood  a  moment  in  blank  astonishment,  at  orders 
so  different  from  any  thing  she  expected ;  but  slowly  a 
light  began  to  break  over  her  confused  face,  and  she  said, 
with  a  decided  nod,  — 

"  Trust  me,  Sibyl ;  no  one  Avill  get  in  unless  I  choose. 
I  thought,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  as  her  mistress  turned 
away,  "  that  it  might  be  something  them  Drummonds  had 
been  sayin'.  They  are  always  afraid  somebody  will  like  her 
better  than  them.  I  heard  'em  the  other  day,  when  I  was 
in  Mrs.  Monroe's  kitchen  —  'A  proper  young  person  enough 
for  her  station.'  I  hope  she'll  live  to  wipe  her  shoes  on 
'em  yet ;  and  they  are  just  the  folks  to  let  her,  if  she  was 
only  rich  enough.  I  want  to  snap  off  their  heads,  just  as  I 
used  to  the  poppies  down  in  our  old  garden,  every  time  I 
hear  'em  talk  in  that  way." 

Whatever  feelings  of  forgiveness  Amanda  might  cherish 
towards  her  own  enemies,  it  was  very  evident  that  she 
had  little  for  those  whom  she  suspected  of  underrating  Sibyl. 

Fortunately  Mrs.  Monroe  did  not  feel  well  that  morning. 
The  storm  had  disturbed  her  rest,  and  Sibyl  easily  per 
suaded  her  to  take  her  breakfast  in  bed.  Amanda's  suspi 
cions  were  confirmed  when  she  saw  her  young  mistress  take 


310  SIBYL. 

a  tray  of  provisions  up  stairs ;  but  she  asked  no  questions. 
Sibyl's  foot  had  scarcely  reached  the  landing,  when  there 
came  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door.  Notwithstanding  she 
had  been  expecting  it  all  the  morning,  she  came  near 
dropping  the  tray  in  her  fright,  which  was  heightened  by 
the  appearance  of  her  brother's  face  at  the  door  of  his  room, 
and  his  eager  whisper,  — 

"  Keep  them  out,  Sibyl !  Keep  them  out  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  go  down  and  see  if  the  back  yard  is  clear." 

She  hastened  down  in  time  to  hear  Amanda  say,  in  the 
irritable  tone  which  so  often  characterizes  the  voice  of  one 
suddenly  roused  from  sleep, — 

"  Don't  bang  the  door  down  !  The  milk  won't  sour,  I 
guess,  until  I  can  get  my  clothes  on." 

She  passed  through  to  the  kitchen.  The  back  yard  was 
clear ;  for  the  person  stationed  there  had  drawn  close  in 
under  the  porch  that  sheltered  the  kitchen  door,  to  escape 
the  fierceness  of  the  storm. 

She  flew  back,  while  Amanda  still  carried  on  a  fretful  col 
loquy  with  the  person  whom  it  pleased  her  to  take  for  the 
milkman,  and  informed  her  brother  of  this. 

"  But  had  you  not  better  stay,  Willie  ?  "  she  said,  anx 
iously.  "  There  are  closets  up  garret ;  had  you  not  better 
trust  to  us  ?  " 

"  And  be  caught !     No." 

They  were  already  in  Amanda's  room.  He  cautiously 
raised  the  window,  and  creeping  slowly  along  the  wet,  sleety 
roof,  dropped  to  the  ground. 


THE    ARREST.  311 

Forgetful  of  the  loud  altercation  going  on  below,  Sibyl 
watched  him  breathlessly,  as  he  crawled  rather  than  walked 
across  the  plat  of  ground  belonging  to  her  house,  and 
scaling  the  fence,  ran  like  a  deer  across  the  open  field  that 
lay  between  them  and  the  street.  She  did  not  know,  that, 
sheltered  beneath  the  high  board  fence  that  divided  this  lot 
from  the  street,  there  were  two  men  watching,  who  seized 
him  even  before  his  feet  touched  the  ground.  Even  had 
she  known  it,  her  heart  could  scarcely  have  been  heavier 
than  it  was  when  she  descended  and  bade  Amanda  open  the 
door. 

The  burst  of  indignation  about  to  be  discharged  upon 
the  head  of  Amanda,  by  the  person  upon  the  steps,  was 
changed  into  quite  a  gentlemanlike  greeting  at  the  sight  of 
Sibyl. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  for  disturbing  you  so  early,"  said 
the  man,  "  but  I  was  told  that  this  is  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Elsie  Monroe.  I  have  pressing  business  with  her  son  "Wil 
liam.  Can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  here,  sir.     Will  you  walk  in  ?  " 

The  man  looked  suspiciously,  with  his  keen,  penetrating 
eyes,  in  Sibyl's  face,  and  seemed  for  a  second  at  fault. 
But  he  accepted  her  invitation,  saying,  as  he  closed  the 
door,  and  shut  out  the  wintry  sleet,  — 

"  I  believe  my  duty  will  oblige  me  to,  ma'am."  Then, 
with  another  glance  at  her  face,  he  added,  with  visible  con 
cern,  — 

"  You  are  the  young  man's  sister,  I  suppose." 


312  SIBYL. 

She  bowed. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but  I  shall  be  under  the  ne 
cessity  of  searching  the  house.  Here  is  my  warrant."  He 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  paper,  as  he  added,  "  The  young 
man  has  been  guilty  of  crime.  His  employer  has,  for  some 
time,  missed  articles  of  value  from  his  store,  and  the  theft 
has  at  last  been  traced  home  to  William  Monroe." 

"  It's  false  !  false  as  your  own  heart,  man  !  Out  of  my 
house  with  your  lies  !  Sibyl,  how  can  you  stand  there  and 
permit  him  to  say  such  things  !  Drive  him  out ! " 

Sibyl  had  turned  with  the  rest,  and  stood  gazing  at  her 
mother  who  appeared  in  the  parlor  doorway,  a  Cashmere 
dressing  gown  hastily  wrapped  around  her,  while  her  whole 
face  and  figure  were  glowing  with  scorn,  indignation,  and 
unutterable  contempt. 

"  What  ails  the  man,  that  he  does  not  move !  Turn  him 
out,  I  say  !  "  she  added. 

"  I  fear  we  have  no  power,  mamma.  He  has  the  law  on 
his  side,  and  we  must  submit.  His  search  cannot  harm  us." 

"  Assuredly  not,  if  he  is  mean  enough  to  make  it ;  and 
doubtless  he  is,  if  he  is  mean  enough  to  prefer  such  charges 
against  an  innocent  boy,"  said  the  mother,  haughtily. 
"  Here,  man,"  she  continued,  as,  with  an  air  of  ineffable 
disdain,  she  swept  across  the  parlor  and  swung  back  her 
bedroom  door,  "  this  is  my  room.  Search  it  carefully ; 
perhaps  he  is  in  that  wardrobe,  or  under  the  bed.  My 
daughter  and  that  girl  yonder  will  show  you  theirs.  Be 
sure  you  leave  no  corner  unsearched.  We  are  only  three 


THE     ARBEST.  313 

women,  with  no  one  to  protect  us.  You  may  as  well  have 
all  the  aid  this  fact  can  give  you." 

The  man  turned  to  Sibyl  in  evident  trouble. 

"It's  a  hard  duty,  and  an  unpleasant  one.  I  have  no 
desire  to  make  it  worse  than  it  is,"  he  began ;  but  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  a  person  calling 
out,  — 

"  It's  all  up  with  him  !  Tison  and  Jones  caught  him  as 
he  attempted  to  escape  the  back  way.  They  are  coming 
this  way  now." 

The  sudden  opening  of  the  door  had  attracted  all  eyes  in 
that  direction ;  even  as  the  man  spoke,  Willie  was  passing, 
closely  guarded  by  his  captors.  The  mother  recognized 
him  at  once,  and,  stretching  forth  her  arms  with  a  cry  of 
agony,  she  sank  fainting  to  the  floor. 

Those  were  very  miserable  days  that  followed  —  days 
which  tried  the  friendship  of  the  many ;  and,  alas  !  the 
many  were  found  wanting.  But  they  proved  the  friend 
ship  of  the  few  who  remained  faithful,  and  added  to  that 
list  one  whose  countenance  was  as  a  tower  of  strength  to 
them  in  that  hour.  For  the  first  time  old  Mrs.  Wentworth 
came  to  their  house,  not  from  curiosity,  nor  a  vain  desire  to 
show  patronage,  but  as  a  friend  ;  and  her  strong  will  did 
much  to  rouse  the  miserable  mother.  Ernest  was  absent 
on  business  ;  but  Master  Fenn  and  Miss  Silence  were  there, 
and  the  poor,  too,  whom  Sibyl  had  aided  in  their  troubles 
—  they  did  not  forget  her. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

ALONG  Centre  Street,  among  wretched,  forlorn-looking 
women,  bloated,  blear-eyed  men,  half-naked,  swollen-limbed, 
scrofulous  children,  who  bore  the  sins  of  their  parents 
written  legibly  upon  their  foreheads  —  past  dirty  alleys  and 
dark,  filthy  cellars,  from  whence  issued  a  conglomeration  of 
odors  that  might  poison  the  lungs  of  a  whole  city  —  went  two 
delicate-looking  women,  escorted  by  a  policeman. 

Neither  mother  nor  daughter  was  conscious  of  these 
things.  All  their  thoughts  were  concentrated  upon  that 
spot,  where  dark,  and  stern,  and  terrible  rise  the  walls  of 
the  city  prison,  —  the  Tombs,  —  the  fearful  but  necessary 
growth  of  that  most  God-forsaken  region. 

Our  readers  have  recognized  them,  of  course.  Nothing 
could  keep  Elsie  Monroe  away  from  her  son.  As  soon  as  she 
was  able  to  arise  from  the  bed  where  the  first  terrible  shock 
had  laid  her,  she  insisted  upon  going  to  New  York ;  and, 
finding  all  remonstrances  vain,  Sibyl  had  consented. 

Indeed,  when  the  first  shock  had  gone  by,  Elsie  manifested 
more  courage  and  hope  than  any  of  them.  Her  unshaken 
faith  in  Willie's  innocence,  and  the  indignation  which  she 
felt  towards  his  accusers,  gave  her  strength.  He  was,  in 

(314) 


IN     THE    TOMBS.  315 

her  view,  the  victim  of  some  villanous  plot,  from  which  he 
would  come  out  triumphant.  Sibyl  longed  to  undeceive 
her  —  to  prepare  her  for  what  she  felt  must  come  ;  but  the 
first  attempt  was  met  with  such  a  shower  of  grief  and  re 
proach,  not  unmingled  with  anger,  that  she  did  not  venture 
to  try  it  again. 

Then,  sometimes,  she  doubted  her  own  judgment.  He 
might  be  innocent  after  all.  Those  suspicious  circumstances 
which  had  brought  such  terror  to  her  and  poor  Fred  might 
be  easily  explained,  perhaps.  Of  course  she  could  never 
speak  of  them  to  another;  still  she  prepared  for  their 
journey  with  a  heavy  heart. 

"  If  my  son  Ernest  were  here,  he  would  know  just  what 
course  to  pursue,"  old  Mrs.  Wentworth  had  said  to  Sibyl, 
the  day  before  their  departure.  But  Sibyl  knew  just  how 
his  keen  sense  of  rectitude  would  lead  him  to  look  at  the 
affair.  She  remembered  her  father's  crime,  and  felt  the 
absence  of  Ernest  Wentworth  an  infinite  relief.  Henceforth 
their  paths  lay  far  apart. 

All  the  arrangements  for  their  journey  fell  upon  her. 
She  must  purchase  tickets,  look  after  hackmen,  baggage,  and 
lodgings ;  but  the  excitement  left  her  when  she  stood  within 
the  shadow  of  those  dreary  walls,  and  she  followed  their 
conductor  through  the  dismal  corridors  with  slow  and  heavy 
feet, 

As  usual,  there  was  a  party  of  curious  visitors  there  — 
young  ladies,  to  whom  a  prison  was  a  novelty,  accompanied 
by  an  elderly  gentleman,  upon  whom  they  drew  largely  for 
information. 


316  SIBYL. 

He  seemed  to  be  quite  posted  up  in  the  prison  life,  for 
he  pointed  out  each  cell,  and  the  crime  of  the  inmate,  —  here 
a  murderer  and  there  a  pirate,  or  burgler,  —  amid  exclama 
tions  of  horror  from  his  party. 

They  barred  the  way  along  the  narrow  corridor,  and 
Sibyl  and  her  mother  were  obliged  to  wait  until  they  could 
pass,  consequently  could  not  avoid  overhearing  a  portion  of 
their  conversation. 

"74 —  let  me  see  —  whom  have  we  here?"  said  the 
gentleman.  "  I  forget.  Who  is  it,  sir  ?  "  and  he  turned  to 
an  official. 

"74  —  ah,  only  a  young  fellow  for  theft." 

"  O,  my  !  "  But  the  young  lady's  ejaculation  was  cut 
short  by  a  request  from  the  conductor  of  Sibyl  and  her 
mother  for  her  party  to  make  way  for  them  to  pass  ;  and 
her  look  suddenly  changed  to  genuine  pity  and  commisera 
tion,  as  she  saw  them  enter  that  cell. 

He  must  have  been  less  than  human  who  had  not  been 
touched  by  the  frantic  joy  of  the  mother  when  she  again 
clasped  her  son  in  her  arms,  and  Willie  could  not  but  feel 
and  respond  to  it.  But  when  she  overcame  her  emotion, 
and  went  on  to  speak  of  his  innocence,  he  maintained  a 
moody  silence,  and,  when  forced  to  speak,  said,  abruptly, — 

"  Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  mother.  I  am  here,  and 
here  I  have  got  to  stay  until  after  the  trial.  Money  might 
possibly  buy  me  off —  such  things  are  done  every  day;  but 
you  haven't  got  it,  and  there's  no  use  in  talking." 

"Buy  you  off!"  cried  the  mother,  her  face  aglow  with 


IN     THE     TOMBS.  317 

indignation ;  "  give  money  to  the  villain  who  has  brought 
all  this  disgrace  and  trouble  upon  us  !  I  have  no  doubt  he 
hoped  we  would  do  so  ;  but  he  shall  take  your  place  if  there 
is  any  such  thing  as  justice  left.  I'm  astonished  that  you 
should  make  such  a  proposition,  my  son." 

She  happened  to  catch  his  eye  fairly  as  she  turned  to 
wards  him,  and  something  there  —  some  expression  which 
her  words  had  called  forth,  and  which  he  had  not  the  art  to 
conceal  —  staggered  her.  She  gazed  again  ;  he  sullenly 
turned  his  face  away.  Clutching  his  arm,  she  cried,  — 

"  It  cannot  be.  O  Willie,  Willie  !  Speak,  and  tell  me 
it  is  not  true  ! " 

He  remained  silent.  He  dared  not  deny  his  guilt,  with 
that  cry  in  his  ears ;  and  the  miserable  mother  stood  as  if 
transfixed,  gazing  at  him ;  while  it  seemed  to  Sibyl  as  if 
the  shades  of  death  were  gathering  over  her,  so  fixed,  so 
pale,  so  rigid,  was  she  :  then,  slowly  unlocking  her  hand 
from  his  arm,  she  clasped  both  hands  above  her  head,  with 
a  motion  as  if  she  would  ward  off  some  heavy  blow,  and 
sank  senseless  to  the  floor. 

The  brother  and  sister  silently  raised  her,  and  laid  her  on 
the  pallet  bed.  The  room  contained  nothing  in  the  way  of 
restoratives  save  a  cup  of  water ;  and  while  Sibyl  bathed 
her  temples  and  chafed  her  hands,  she  could  not  help  feel 
ing  that  it  might  be  well  if  she  should  never  awake  to  a 
sense  of  her  misery  again. 

But  she  had  not  yet  gathered  the  full  harvest  which  her 
foolish  indulgence  had  sown  years  before ;  and  she  opened 


318  SIBYL. 

her  eyes,  glanced  at  the  bare  walls,  the  face  of  her  idol  boy, 
and  closed  them  again  with  a  low  groan. 

"  Mother,"  said  Willie,  lifting  his  face  from  his  hands, 
where  he  had  bowed  it  as  if  to  shut  out  that  sight,  "  this  is 
no  place  for  you.  You  cannot  help  me,  and  you  had  best 
not  come  here  again.  Sibyl  can  come,  if  necessary  ;  and, 
if  you  choose,  you  can  get  counsel,  and  see  what  can  be 
done." 

"  Willie,  you  spoke  of  money  ;  is  there  any  hope  ?  Will 
money  buy  you  off?"  cried  the  mother,  eagerly. 

"  It  might,  for  this  man  is  mean  and  miserly,  and " 

"  Then  you  shall  be  free,  my  child !  Sibyl,  you  have 
Fred's  legacy.  You  will  not  spare  it  to  keep  him  from  a 
prison  ;  think  of  it  —  among  murderers  and  felons !  "  and 
the  thin,  white  hands  were  clasped  tightly  over  her  eyes,  as 
if  to  keep  out  the  horrible  vision.  "  Why  don't  you  speak, 
child?" 

"  It  is  no  longer  mine,  mamma ; "  and  in  a  few  words  she 
told  them  of  her  disposal  of  the  property.  Elsie  scarcely 
heard  her  out. 

"  Given  it  to  Mr.  Wentworth !  Left  yourself  and  us 
beggars  !  Sibyl,  were  you  mad  ?  " 

Mrs.  Monroe  sat  upright  now,  staring  Sibyl  in  the  face. 

"  Not  given,  mamma.  It  is  gone  where  it  was  justly 
due  —  to  pay  papa's  debt.  Remember  that  he  ruined  them." 

"  You  are  a  fool,  and  always  will  be,  Sibyl !  "  said  Willie, 
angrily,  disappointed  in  this  sudden  hope  of  escape.  "  To 
give  up  your  money  for  a  whim  like  that !  But  perhaps 


THE     YOUNG     REPROBATE.  319 

you  had  other  hopes,  miss.  I  am  not  so  blind  as  you 
think." 

"  Willie,  Willie  ! "  cried  the  mother,  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 

The  quick  blood  which  her  brother's  taunt  brought  to  the 
neck  and  cheek  of  Sibyl  retreated  and  left  her  pale  as  death. 
"  Mother,"  she  said,  firmly,  "  to  you  and  Willie  that  deed  of 
my  father  may  seem  a  whim,  a  trifle ;  but  to  me  it  is 
otherwise.  It  has  darkened  my  life.  The  money  was  my 
own,  and  I  did  with  it  as  I  thought  best.  I  did  not  antici 
pate  such  a  case  as  this  ;  but  even  if  I  had,  I  should  scarce 
ly  have  done  otherwise.  I  can  still  work  for  you,  mother, 
and  as  long  as  I  have  health  and  strength,  I  have  no  fears." 

"  Of  course  ;  I  have  no  doubt  you  did  what  you  thought 
right,  Sibyl,"  said  the  mother,  soothingly,  touched  by  her 
daughter's  tears ;  "  but  it's  what  one  in  a  hundred  would  not 
have  thought  of  doing.  I  wish  you  had  consulted  me.  Of 
course,  no  one  could  foresee  this,"  she  added,  sorrowfully. 

"  You  might  have  foreseen  it  years  ago,  mother,"  said 
Willie,  turning  upon  her  his  handsome  face,  with  that  cold, 
wicked,  hardened  look,  which  Sibyl  had  felt,  rather  than 
seen,  at  their  first  meeting.  "  You  might  have  known  it  if 
you  had  ever  considered  the  training  you  gave  me  —  the 
difference  between  my  habits  and  my  means." 

She  shrunk  from  his  words  as  if  they  had  been  daggers. 

When  Sibyl  returned  to  their  lodgings,  she  found  a  note 
from  old  Master  Fenn.  A  severe  attack  of  rheumatism 
had  prevented  him  from  accompanying  them  to  New  York, 
and  he  now  wrote  to  recommend  them  to  employ  as  coun- 


320  SIBYL. 

sel  a  Mr.  Longley,  a  lawyer  of  some  note  in  the  city.  "  He 
is  Mr.  Wentworth's  friend  and  counsellor  in  legal  matters, 
and  will  be  able  to  settle  your  business  if  any  one  can," 
added  the  old  man. 

Sibyl  sought  him  out ;  but  one  or  two  interviews  with 
the  prisoner  convinced  him  of  the  hopelessness  of  the  case, 
and  he  kindly  but  explicitly  prepared  them  for  the  result. 

"  The  missing  articles  found  in  his  possession  do  not 
amount  in  value  to  the  sum  of  twenty -five  dollars  ;  therefore 
they  cannot  make  grand  larceny  of  the  offence  ;  and  he 
will  not  be  sent  to  Sing  Sing,  but  to  Blackwell's  Island,  for 
a  term  of  time,  at  the  option  of  the  judge,"  said  the  gentle 
man.  "  The  only  hope  is  in  a  petition  for  pardon  to  the 
governor ;  and  if  you  had  any  testimonials  as  to  his  previous 
good  character,  it  might  possibly  be  successful,  as  this  is 
his  first  offence." 

"  Why  have  we  not  thought  of  this  before  ? "  cried  the 
mother,  starting  up  from  her  stupor  of  despair.  "  There  is 
Mr.  "Wallace,  and  Messrs.  Le  Clerc  &  Co.,  of  Paris.  He 
brought  testimonials  from  them.  You  remember,  Sibyl,  he 
showed  them  to  Mr.  Wallace  and  Master  Fenn." 

They  did  apply  to  Mr.  Wallace,  only  to  find  that  the 
French  testimonials  had  been  of  questionable  authority, 
and  that  Mr.  Wallace's  opinion  was  any  thing  but  in  his 
favor. 

"  Only  surprised  that  the  lad  has  not  brought  up  where 
he  is  before,"  that  gentleman  said  to  Mr.  Longley.  "  I  bore 
with  him  for  my  old  friend  Richard  Fenn's  sake ;  he  had 


WENT  WORTH'S   LETTER.  321 

some  interest  in  the  boy ;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  He  was  a 
sharp  lad  enough  at  business  —  a  little  too  sharp  for  one  so 
young ;  but  bad  hours,  bad  company,  bad  habits,  have  been 
his  ruin.  They  cost  not  only  money,  but  life,  sir." 

Of  course  there  was  no  hope  of  getting  the  wretched, 
misguided  boy  clear,  and  he  was  sentenced  to  Blackwell's 
Island  for  a  three  months'  term. 

Then  he  seemed  to  realize,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  was 
a  convicted  felon  ;  but  even  then  it  was  his  pride  that  was 
touched  rather  than  his  conscience.  He  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  eating,  laboring,  mingling  with  felons.  His  fas 
tidious  physical  sense  shrank  from  the  contamination,  — 
would  that  his  moral  sense  had  been  as  keen,  —  and  in  his 
last  sorrowful  interview  between  himself  and  his  mother  and 
sister,  he  threw  aside  his  air  of  bravado,  and  begged  pit- 
eously  that  they  would  find  some  means  to  get  him  free. 

Before  Sibyl  left  the  city  she  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Wentworth.  She  had  never  received  a  line  from  him 
before,  but  she  knew  the  handwriting  of  the  address  at 
once.  She  would  have  known  it  among  a  thousand,  so  reg 
ular,  clear,  firm,  and  decided ;  no  tremulous,  uncertain 
strokes,  no  running  of  one  letter  into  the  other  to  provoke 
uncertainty  or  irritability.  It  made  her  strong  to  look  at  it. 
The  days  of  miracles  are  not  past;  there  are  those  even 
now  on  earth,  in  the  touch  of  whose  garments  there  are 
healing  and  strength ;  who  has  not  met  them  and  thanked 
God  for  the  same  ? 

The  note  was  dated  Rockville,  and  contained  a  decided 
21 


322  SIBYL. 

and  indignant  refusal  of  her  offer  to  transfer  to  him  Fred's 
bequest. 

"  Master  Richard  tells  me,"  he  wrote,  "  that  to  cancel  this 
obligation  of  your  father  has  been  the  aim  of  your  life.  I 
am  very  sorry,  I  confess,  —  disappointed,  —  to  learn  that 
this  aim  should  be  one  which  must  necessarily  include  such 
a  low,  sordid  estimate  of  me ;  the  more  so  when  I  reflect 
that  many  months'  residence  under  the  same  roof,  and  years 
of  acquaintance,  seem  only  to  have  confirmed  it.  I  cannot 
submit  to  this  estimate  even  to  gratify  you.  I  beg  leave  to 
refuse  your  offer.  Master  Fenn  will  tell  you  that  the 
papers  relating  to  this  business  are  destroyed.  I  trust  you 
will  forget  that  they  ever  existed,  and  that  your  aim  hence 
forth  may  be  such  as  will  include  justice  to  others." 

Mr.  Wentworth  was  vexed  —  that  was  evident ;  yet  why 
should  the  estimate  of  his  daughter's  teacher  disturb  the 
haughty  man  ?  He  did  not  ask  himself  that  question. 
Like  the  proud,  self-willed  being  as  he  was,  he  expected 
his  laws  to  fulfil  themselves.  Moreover,  Sibyl  had  become 
necessary  to  him.  She  possessed  just  that  combination  of 
strength  and  feminine  grace  that  he  admired.  She  knew 
how  to  hold  her  tongue  —  she  did  not  fret  him  with  an 
exacting  manner,  like  Miss  Drummond ;  he  liked  to  have 
her  near  him ;  her  quiet  ways  soothed  him ;  he  liked  to  know, 
even  if  he  seldom  called,  that  she  was  there  in  her  quiet 
home ;  that  he  could  see  her  any  time  he  chose  to  make  the 
effort  —  the  autocrat !  that  he  could  listen  to  her  voice  and 
study  her  thoughtful  face.  All  these  things  were  pleasant 


ERNEST    WENT  WORTH.  323 

breaks  in  his  harassed  business  life.  He  never  thought 
of  danger  to  her ;  he  was  not  vain ;  or,  if  he  had  been  so, 
he  had  left  that  period  far  behind.  She  was  too  wise  to 
misunderstand  him ;  he  felt  that.  He  was  a  wise  man  in 
most  things,  —  this  Ernest  "Wentworth, — but  he  did  not 
know  with  what  a  wonderful,  mysterious  power  the  soft, 
yielding  moss  impresses  its  image  upon  the  clear,  hard 
agate.  That  he  had  yet  to  learn. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

SIBYL  had  not  the  trouble  she  anticipated  in  persuading 
her  mother  to  return  to  Rockville.  When  the  excitement 
of  the  trial  and  sentence  was  over,  the  poor  woman  sank 
into  a  state  of  helpless  despondency  —  an  apathy,  accompa 
nied  by  almost  childish  helplessness. 

She  would  sit  for  hours  looking  at  a  miniature  of  Willie, 
taken  when  he  was  at  school  among  the  Highlands,  without 
speaking  or  altering  a  muscle  of  her  countenance ;  or  lie 
whole  days  on  the  sofa,  making  a  low,  whimpering  moan, 
which  was  far  more  terrible  to  hear  than  her  old-time  bursts 
of  passionate  tears. 

Dr.  Strong  said  it  was  "  a  nervous  weakness,"  and  rec 
ommended  "  cheerful  society,  change  of  air,"  &c.,  &c. ;  but 
she  wholly  refused  to  listen  to  either  of  these  propositions. 
Then  the  doctor  said  they  must  "  trust  to  time  ;  "  and  only 
those  who  have  watched  over  a  friend  in  like  condition  can 
understand  how  long  that  time  seemed  to  Sibyl,  or  appre 
ciate  the  influence  of  such  a  trial  on  a  person  of  her  sensi 
tive  temperament.  It  is  the  slow  torture  ;  and  it  seemed 
to  Sibyl  sometimes  as  if  a  paroxysm  of  raving  insanity 
would  be  a  relief.  Of  course  her  school  was  scattered; 

(324) 


IN     THE     SHADOW.  325 

possibly  she  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  gather  it  again, 
even  if  she  had  felt  disposed  to  make  the  attempt.  Amanda 
took  from  her,  with  the  manner  of  a  despot,  all  domestic 
care,  and  thought  it  kindness ;  yet  she  never  more  needed 
the  influence  of  active  employment. 

Sitting  there,  day  after  day,  in  that  quiet  room  whose 
shaded  light  added  to  its  still  lifelessness,  hope  seemed  to 
fade  to  a  dream,  a  mocking  vision ;  the  future  opened  no 
promise,  and  she  felt  a  kind  of  dreary  indifference  to  life,  a 
longing  to  reach  forward  to  the  close  —  to  have  done  with 
at  least  its  earthly  toils. 

Nervous  debility  had  much  to  do  with  this  state,  no 
doubt ;  but  —  do  not  sneer,  reader  —  nerves  are,  unfortu 
nately,  as  liable  to  disarrangement  as  any  other  part  of  this 
human  mechanism  ;  and  moreover,  every  one  is  not  so  fortu 
nate  as  to  leave  the  Slough  of  Despond  behind  him  at  the 
outset  as  Christian  did.  Sloughs  of  Despond  are  frequent 
ly  encountered  on  the  path  of  life. 

Sometimes  the  resolute  Amanda  drove  her  forth  for  fresh 
air,  bluntly  affirming  as  an  excuse  that  she  would  be  "  worse 
than  her  mother  if  she  cooped  herself  up  thus." 

And  these  walks  did  her  good.  It  was  not  alone  the 
fresh  air ;  the  faces  that  met  her  with  a  smile  and  kind 
greeting,  had  a  cheerier  look  than  when  they  showed  them 
selves  with  their  court  dress  of  sympathy  in  the  wan  light 
of  her  mother's  room  —  the  voices  a  heartier  tone.  She 
could  even  endure  Mrs.  Drummond's  shrill-voiced  condo 
lences  about  that  "  dreadful  affair,"  and  her  "  poor  mamma," 
even  if  half  the  town  heard  them,  with  some  grace. 


326  SIBYL. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  she  met  Mr.  Wentworth.  As 
she  turned  the  corner  of  a  street,  she  saw  him  several  rods 
distant,  talking  to  his  cousin,  Miss  Agnes ;  but  as  she  ad 
vanced,  the  lady  walked  gayly  up  the  street,  and  the  gen 
tleman,  observing  her,  as  he  turned,  slightly  bowed,  and  en 
tered  the  half  confectionery  and  half  florist's  shop  in  front 
of  which  he  and  Miss  Drummond  had  been  standing.  It 
was  the  first  time  Sibyl  had  seen  him  since  her  return  from 
New  York.  Mrs.  "VVentworth  and  Winnie  were  at  the  sea 
side ;  and  after  that  note  she  had  hardly  expected  him  to 
call.  She  felt  convinced  now ;  but  there  was  a  sharpness 
about  the  truth  that  made  her  shrink  a  little  beneath  her 
shawl,  and  walk  a  little  faster  in  order  to  avoid  the  possi 
bility  of  a  meeting. 

Just  as  she  reached  the  door,  he  came  out ;  had  he  been 
waiting  he  could  not  have  been  more  exact.  As  she  was 
about  to  pass  him  with  a  bow,  he  spoke,  uttered  some  casu 
al  remark  about  the  weather,  just  as  if  they  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  meet  daily,  and  placing  in  her  hand  a  small  bou 
quet  of  white  violets,  passed  on. 

"Was  it  a  peace  offering  ?  Sibyl  took  it  as  such.  It  was 
no  unusual  thing  for  him  to  bring  home  flowers  when  she 
was  at  his  house  ;  his  stern  mother  was  fond  of  them  ;  but 
she  was  glad  to  see  that  he  remembered  her  tastes ;  glad 
that  he  was  not  angry ;  and  the  white,  creamy  petals  of  the 
flowers  lightened  the  darkness  of  her  mother's  room  for 
many  days,  while  the  air  was  filled  with  their  perfume. 

Sweet  as  it  was,  it  led  to  no  intoxicating  dreams  —  it  did 
not  smother  truth.  She  was  too  wise  now  to  attempt  to 


WILLIE'S   FUTURE.  327 

cheat  or  compromise  with  this  sternest,  most  exacting  of 
all  God's  angels  ;  she  knew  how  idle  and  futile  the  attempt 
—  but  it  helped  her  to  face  it ;  it  gave  her  strength  to  hold  it 
fast,  and  scan  it  in  its  nakedness  —  to  hear  it  said  that  the 
hand  that  gave  the  fragrant  gift  was  promised  to  Miss 
Drummond,  and  even  to  see  him,  many  times,  pass  her  in 
the  street  with  scarce  a  look  of  recognition ;  for  she  felt 
that  there  was  friendliness  at  his  heart. 

As  the  term  of  Willie's  sentence  drew  towards  a  close, 
Mrs.  Monroe  began  gradually  to  rouse  herself,  and  take 
some  thought  for  the  future  ;  and  she  could  tolerate  no  fu 
ture  that  did  not  lie  far  away  from  Rockville.  Like  all 
weak-minded  people,  to  do  right  seemed  a  thing  more  de 
pendent  on  circumstances  than  the  heart,  and  she  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  Willie's  returning  there,  to  face  all  their 
former  acquaintance.  She  never  seemed  to  doubt  his  re 
pentance  ;  but  it  would  be  so  much  easier  for  him  to  do 
right  where  he  was  unknown. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Sibyl  and  Master  Richard  urged  that 
temptation  and  evil  are  every  where,  and  maintained  the 
wisdom  of  meeting  them  among  kind,  thoughtful  friends  ; 
she  was  deaf  to  their  reasoning,  and  Sibyl,  at  last,  gave  a 
reluctant  consent. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  Mrs.  Monroe  had  come  to  hold 
her  in  some  way  responsible  for  Willie's  future  conduct ;  as 
if  there  were  some  talismanic  power  in  her  presence  to 
keep  him  from  evil. 

"  There  is  room  enough  at  the  west  for  us,  and  we  may 
be  proud  of  Willie  yet,  Sibyl,"  the  mother  would  plead ; 


328  SIBYL. 

"  besides,  you  have  no  ties  here ;  it  is  so  fortunate  that  you 
never  cared  for  friends,  like  other  girls ;  it  will  be  so  easy 
for  you  to  leave,  child." 

No  ties  !  How  strangely  we  misjudge  those  with  whom 
we  clasp  hands  daily !  How  sorely  they  feel  it  sometimes, 
too !  And  yet  it  is  well.  The  nearest,  most  passionately 
beloved  heart  is  but  human,  judging  through  the  film  of 
earth,  laying  itself  bare  in  its  strength  and  weakness  only 
to  the  clear  eye  of  the  Omniscient  Goodness.  No  ties  ! 
Who  could  measure  the  clinging,  reverent  affection  that 
bound  her  to  Master  Richard  and  Miss  Silence,  or  the  ten 
derness  with  which  she  clung  to  each  spot  consecrated  by 
memories  of  Fred  and  mother  Mabel  —  the  wood,  the  hills, 
rocks,  and  waters,  which  had  become  a  part  of  her  being  ? 

The  affairs  of  the  Monroes  were  duly  discussed  by  the 
people  of  Eockville,  especially  this  project  of  going  west. 
Most  thought  it  the  best  thing  they  could  do. 

"  Of  course,  they  would  not  want  to  stay  here  where 
every  body  knew  them.  If  it  was  our  case,  we  should  never 
be  able  to  hold  up  our  heads  again,  that  is  certain,"  &c. 

None  more  loudly  expressed  approbation  of  this  plan  than 
Mrs.  Drummond.  She  always  thought  "  that  Miss  Monroe 
a  sensible  girl,  and  she  was  glad  to  find  that  she  was  not 
mistaken.  She  did  not  doubt  but  they  would  do  well  out 
there.  Sibyl's  education,  which  was  just  that  of  any  ordina 
ry  girl  here,  would  give  her  a  position  out  there  ;  she  might 
marry  well  —  who  knew  ?  Certainly,  it  was  the  wisest 
thing  they  could  do.  Did  not  Ernest  think  so  ?  " 

And  Ernest,  whose  face  was  always  on  such  occasions  as 


GOING     OUT     WEST.  329 

unreadable  as  the  Sphinx,  at  least  to  Mrs.  Drummond, 
turned  away  without  reply,  reserving  his  opinion  for  those 
most  interested. 

Indeed,  the  plan  was  little  likely  to  meet  either  the  ap 
proval  of  his  head  or  heart  It  was  "  absurd,  ridiculous,  a 
piece  of  mere  folly;  none  but  a  woman  would  ever  have 
entertained  it  for  a  moment."  Yet,  in  spite  of  these  not  very 
complimentary  opinions  which  his  mother's  reference  to  the 
subject  at  the  breakfast  table  had  called  forth,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  call  at  the  cottage,  and  earnestly  expostulate  with 
Mrs.  Monroe  ;  with  little  success,  however ;  for  opposition 
only  made  her  cling  more  tenaciously  to  her  plan ;  and 
hopeless  of  influencing  her,  he  turned  to  Sibyl. 

She  acknowledged  the  force  of  his  arguments.  She  was 
touched  by  the  earnest  friendliness,  the  almost  tenderness, 
of  his  manner ;  but  she  felt  that  her  mother's  happiness, 
perhaps  her  reason,  depended  on  this  plan  —  that  it  was 
her  duty  to  go. 

"  Duty !  have  you  no  duties  save  to  your  mother  and 
brother,  Miss  Monroe  ?  None  to  youself,  or  your  other 
friends  ?  "  he  said  rather  impatiently  one  day,  when  she  had 
replied  to  him  by  uttering  that  one  word. 

"  Yes,  many,"  she  replied,  looking  up  pleasantly  from  her 
work ;  "  but  I  have  always  found  that  by  doing  duties  which 
seemed  to  me  the  plainest  and  nearest,  I  best  fulfilled  the 
others.  To  me,"  she  added,  thoughtfully,  "  the  path  seems 
plain ;  and  knowing  this  to  be  so,  I  can  hardly  think  you 
wish  to  shake  my  resolve." 

"  Not  merely  to  shake  it,  but  to  change  it,"  he  said,  de- 


330  SIBYL. 

cidedly.  "I  think  your  notions  of  duty  morbid;  I  have 
some  reason  for  the  statement,  I  think,"  he  added  with  a 
smile,  as  he  saw  her  start  and  look  up  as  she  recalled  his 
note.  "  Any  view  of  duty  that  leads  one  to  assume  to  him 
self  the  obligations  which  are  plainly  binding  upon  other 
people,  however  beautiful  it  may  seem,  is  a  positive  wrong 
to  himself  and  the  others.  There  are,  doubtless,  excep 
tions  ;  but,  generally,  it  is  merely  giving  '  aid  and  comfort ' 
to  selfishness  —  making  bad  worse.  Pardon  me,  Sibyl,"  (he 
had  sometimes  called  her  thus  in  the  long  watchings  by  the 
bedside  of  Fred  Monroe,)  "  pardon  me  for  speaking  a 
thought  which  has  been  often  forced  upon  me  during  your 
residence  here.  I  do  not  think  that  either  your  mother  or 
brother  has  any  right  to  ask,  much  less  expect,  this  sacri 
fice  of  you.  You  know  little  about  the  trials  of  life  in  the  far 
west ;  the  discomforts  of  a  half  civilized  home  ;  the  changes, 
the  sharp  disappointments,  that  will  await  you  there." 

"  You  doubt  my  brother's  amendment,"  she  said,  quickly, 
reading  the  thought  in  his  face  rather  than  his  words. 
"  You  do  not  trust  him.  Speak  freely.  You  have  seen 
him,  and  I  am  anxious  to  know  your  thought." 

"  It  would  not  be  true  to  say  that  I  distrust  him  entirely," 
he  said,  slowly.  "  I  have  seen  him  more  than  once,  and,  I 
confess,  my  impression  of  his  sincerity  is  not  the  most 
favorable.  But  I  may  be  mistaken.  You,  who  know  him 
best,  ought  to  be  the  best  judge." 

"  Then  there  is  the  more  reason  Avhy  mamma  and  I 
?hould  keen  him  with  us,"  she  said,  scarcely  heeding  the 
l:i-t  clause  of  hi?  remark  ;  "and  we  must  indeed  no." 


A     REMONSTRANCE.  331 

Mr.  Wentworth  paced  the  room,  silently,  a  few  moments, 
then  pausing  before  her,  said,  impatiently,  — 

"  There  is  no  must  about  it,  save  in  your  own  mind.  If 
you  would  but  look  upon  it  like  a  sensible  woman,  and  not 
like  a  romantic  school  girl,  —  if  you  would  but  firmly  refuse 
to  go,  —  they  would  be  obliged  to  give  it  up." 

"  Mr.  "Wentworth,  I  have  said  that  my  mother's  heart  is 
in  the  plan.  You  are  too  devoted  a  son  not  to  comprehend 
my  feelings."  She  spoke  hastily,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that 
he  was  hard  to  press  her  thus  ;  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes,  as  she  added,  — 

"  They  are  all  that  I  have.  Why  should  I  not  make 
their  lot  mine  ?  Why  should  I  stay  here  ?  " 

He  thrust  back  the  words  that  sprang  to  his  lips ;  he 
shut  them  back,  and  manacled  them  by  the  strong  effort  of 
his  will.  He  would  have  no  such  follies  as  these,  no  such 
weakness,  which  must  end  only  in  disappointment  and  re 
pentance.  Had  he  not  learned  the  lesson  once  ?  So  he 
said,  calmly,  — 

"There  are  many  here  who  will  miss  you.  Master 
Richard  and  Miss  Silence,  Winnie  and  my  mother.  Kin 
ship  is  not  always  the  best  assurance  of  appreciation.  You 
will  not  go,  Sibyl !  " 

For  a  moment  she  yielded  to  the  spell  of  that  clear,  de 
cided  tone.  It  seemed  as  if  there  was  destiny  in  its  quiet 
determination;  but  she  roused  herself,  and  answered,— 

"  These  have  enough  to  love  them,  the  others  none  but 
me.  I  shall  go." 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

MR.  WENTWORTH'S  words  were,  indeed,  prophetic. 
They  did  not  go.  It  had  never  occurred  to  the  poor  fond 
mother  that  her  cherished  scheme  could  fail  through  the  con 
duct  of  the  very  person  for  whose  benefit  it  was  planned. 
But  Willie  took  his  destiny  into  his  own  hands.  His  ex 
perience  of  prison  life,  and  the  influences  he  came  under 
there,  '  had  any  thing  but  a  salutary  effect  upon  him ; 
and,  however  he  might  view  the  matter  while  within  the 
walls,  he  felt  no  disposition  to  be  "  tied  to  her  apron  string  " 
when  he  got  free  again. 

Instead  of  the  repentant  boy,  which  the  mother's  arms 
were  reaching  out  to  clasp,  there  came  only  a  letter,  —  a 
short,  hurried  letter,  —  to  say  that  he  had  joined  a  company 
that  were  going  to  the  newly-discovered  gold  regions  in 
California,  and  they  need  trouble  themselves  no  further 
about  him. 

It  must  have  been  that  the  boy  had  no  conception  of  the 
love  his  mother  bore  him,  of  the  life  of  unwearied  sacrifice 
she  was  now  willing  to  live  for  him,  or  he  would  not  have 
written  just  in  that  way.  It  was  a  cruel  letter,  and  pierced 
her  heart  even  more  keenly  than  had  the  knowledge  of  his 

(332) 


THE     LAST     BLOW.  333 

guilt.  That  was  terrible ;  but  all  through  it  there  had  run 
one  light  streak  —  his  love  for  her.  This  now  went  out 
in  a  darkness  that  made  her  very  heartstrings  shiver,  and 
she  gave  way  entirely. 

Ah,  could  old  Lydia  Blair  have  looked  upon  her  then ! 
Even  her  stern  justice  Avould  have  been  tempered  with 
mercy. 

There  were  no  weak,  querulous  complaints  now,  no  false 
pride  seeking  to  hide  the  truth  ;  the  anguish  was  too  real 
for  subterfuge  or  triviality,  and  it  imparted  to  her  manner  a 
dignity  which  commanded  respect  as  well  as  pity. 

Do  we  speak  too  often  of  clouds  and  shadows,  reader? 
—  not  of  the  quick,  black  thundercloud  that  flashes  out  its 
anger  in  fiery  darts  and  is  gone,  but  of  long,  dreary,  tintless, 
gloomy  days,  when  all  light  is  mixed  with  a  sodden  gray, 
a  lifeless  atmosphere,  which  seems  to  settle  lower  and  lower, 
crushing  out  faith  and  hope  ? 

It  is  because  we  have  found  that,  both  in  the  physical  and 
moral  world,  these  are  the  most  frequent,  and  far  the 
hardest  to  bear.  Yet  we  know  that  now,  as  of  old,  the  fire 
and  the  cloud  still  lead  to  the  promised  land ;  that  behind 
the  thick  darkness  the  stars  sit  calm  and  serene,  un 
changeable  as  God's  truth. 

It  was  very  hard,  and  sometimes  Sibyl  feared  the  clouds 
would  never  lift ;  but  light  came  at  last,  and  from  a  quarter 
wholly  unexpected. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  looking  up  from  the  letter  which  a 
kind  neighbor  had  brought  from  the  office,  over  which  she 


334  SIBYL. 

had  been  looking,  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  with  a  puzzled 
expression,  "  have  you  any  relatives  of  the  name  of  Cook 
-Abigail  Cook?" 

Once,  Mrs.  Monroe  would  have  been  curious ;  now,  she 
merely  shook  her  head,  without  looking  up. 

"  Well,  here  is  a  letter  from  a  person  of  that  name,  who 
says  she  is  your  aunt,  and  that  she  is  coming  here  to  make 
us  a  visit.  Think,  mamma ;  who  can  she  be  ?  Abigail 
Cook." 

"  Abigail  Cook,"  repeated  Elsie,  rousing  herself,  as  if  she 
had  but  then  comprehended  her  daughter's  words  ;  "  my 
mother  had  a  half  sister,  who  married  a  Cook.  I  think 
her  name  was  Abigail ;  I  am  not  sure,  for  we  always  spoke 
of  her  as  aunt  Cook,  though  I  never  saw  her.  I  think  she 
must  be  dead  long  ago  —  she  was  older  than  mother." 

"  No,  she  is  not  dead ;  see  !  this  is  her  writing  —  old  fash 
ioned,  round,  and  firm ;  if  she  is  like  that,  she  is  a  hale  old 
lady  yet ;  and  she  is  coming  here.  Mr.  Longley,  whom  we 
knew  in  New  York,  —  our  lawyer,  you  remember,  mamma," 
—  she  hesitated  to  name  Willie,  —  "  is  coming  with  her. 
He  married  her  granddaughter,  it  seems." 

Mrs.  Monroe  was  partially  roused ;  by  means  of  that 
simple,  but  kindly-expressed  letter,  Sibyl  led  her  back  to 
the  days  of  her  early  childhood,  and  the  effort  brought  its 
reward.  It  took  her  out  of  the  weary,  black  present ;  and 
partly  by  caressing  entreaties,  and  partly  by  adroitly-put 
queries,  the  daughter  learned,  in  a  short  half  hour,  more  of 
her  mother's  own  family  than  she  had  before  in  her  whole 


ATJNT     COOK.  335 

life.  But  of  the  expected  guest,  whose  coming  had  thus 
already  stirred  with  life  the  still  atmosphere  of  that  room, 
she  could  learn  but  little,  beyond  the  fact  that  her  grand 
mother  had  been  much  attached  to  her,  —  as  much  as  if  she 
had  been  her  own  sister,  —  and  that  she  had  married,  and 
gone  to  Ohio,  when  that  state  was  the  frontier  of  civiliza 
tion. 

There  was  a  bustle  in  the  house  —  not  a  necessary  bustle, 
but  a  sort  of  understood  thing  between  Sibyl  and  Amanda  — 
an  affectionate  ruse,  to  keep  alive  this  newly-excited  interest 
in  the  mother,  and  their  ignorance  succeeded  in  drawing  her 
to  the  kitchen,  to  superintend  the  cream  cakes  and  other 
delicacies  ;  and  fortunately,  these  were  scarcely  cold  before 
the  guest  arrived ;  Mr.  Longley  only  pausing  on  his  way  to 
Boston  long  enough  to  introduce  her,  and  exchange  with 
his  former  clients  a  friendly  greeting. 

There  are  some  persons  who  have  a  peculiar  power  of 
communicating  happiness  ;  it  seems  to  be  neither  dependent 
on  their  will  nor  their  wisdom ;  they  do  it  involuntarily,  as 
the  flower  gives  out  fragrance ;  they  bear  an  atmosphere 
about  them  at  once  genial  and  bracing  —  June  natures,  that 
carry  warmth  and  vitality  to  the  exhausted,  despairing  spirit, 
just  as  June  days  quicken  with  life  the  vegetable  world. 

Such  a  one  was  aunt  Cook.  Though  nearly  seventy, 
she  was  still  hale  and  hearty ;  her  deep-blue  eyes  retained 
much  of  the  vivacity  of  youth,  and  her  complexion  some 
thing  of  its  freshness,  like  a  fine  apple,  long  kept,  a  little 
withered  without,  perhaps,  but  sound  and  fresh  flavored  at 


336  SIBYL. 

the  core.  You  felt  that  she  had  garnered  the  sunshine  of 
those  seventy  summers  in  her  heart.  It  was  good  to  be  near 
her ;  and  Elsie  felt  her  presence  like  a  balm. 

Though  very  decided  and  energetic,  even  peremptory  in 
matters  of  importance,  she  did  not  trouble  herself  to  ser 
monize  on  every  little  fault  or  mood  elicited  by  the  friction 
of  daily  life.  She  knew  when  and  how  to  leave  people 
alone,  though  few  things  escaped  her  clear  eye.  Therefore, 
when  Elsie  chose  to  confine  herself  to  the  sofa,  with  her 
head  buried  among  the  pillows  for  hours,  she  did  not  ex 
postulate  —  she  merely  sent  Amanda  to  the  hotel,  to  order 
a  horse  and  carriage,  and  when  it  came,  reminded  her  that 
Sibyl  and  she  were  waiting  for  her  to  accompany  them 
down  to  Master  Richard's,  or  to  some  other  place  of  interest. 

The  intimation  might  be,  as  it  usually  was,  met  with  re 
fusals,  entreaties  to  be  left  alone,  hysterical  assertions  that 
she  should  die  before  they  had  gone  a  mile.  The  old  lady 
did  not  contradict  her ;  she  only  talked  of  the  sunshine  and 
pleasant  weather,  and  under  the  pressure  of  her  resistless 
will,  the  invalid  found  herself  bonneted  and  shawled,  and 
in  the  carriage,  almost  before  she  knew  it ;  and  by  the  time 
she  again  reached  her  own  door,  had  usually  put  off  all 
thought  of  dying,  at  least  for  the  time  being.  She  was 
learning  what  a  great  many  had  learned  before  her  —  that 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  die  as  we  think. 

To  Sibyl  the  old  lady's  presence  was  a  cordial,  and  very 
cordially  they  plotted  and  planned  together.  She  did  not 
often  speak  of  their  past  history,  though  from  some  words 
of  hers,  Sibyl  inferred  that  she  was  familiar  with  all  that 


A     VISIT     PLANNED.  337 

portion  which  related  to  "Willie.  This  she  could  easily  learn 
through  Mr.  Longley,  whose  interest  in  them  had  excited 
hers,  and  led  her  to  trace  them  out. 

"  Sibyl,"  she  said,  one  day,  "  you  and  your  mother  must 
go  home  with  me.  I  have  decided  that  point.  She  needs 
change ;  there  is  no  fear  of  her  actually  dying,  as  she  says, 
here,  but  she  may  become  confirmed  in  this  state  of  nervous 
depression,  which  is  a  sort  of  living  death.  And  the  change 
won't  hurt  you.  You  want  stirring  up,  and  our  buckeye 
life  will  do  that.  You  have  a  dragged-out  look,  child,  that 
I  don't  like.  You  must  go.  Don't  go  to  hunting  up  objec 
tions  ;  the  thing  is  settled ;  your  friends  the  Fenns  and  I 
settled  it  the  other  day,  when  you  were  thrumming  away  on 
that  organ,  and  Amanda  is  to  stay  with  them  while  you  are 
gone.  Don't  talk ;  we  shall  have  enough  of  that  to  do  to 
persuade  your  mother.  We  must  take  her  by  storm." 

They  did :  spite  of  Elsie's  protestations,  the  preparations 
went  on  —  hastily,  at  times  almost  merrily  ;  and  by  the  time 
they  had  reached  New  York,  she  began  to  manifest  an 
almost  childish  pleasure  in  the  plan.  They  stopped  at  Mr. 
Long-ley's  for  a  day  or  two,  and  she  was  quite  charmed  with 
the  attentions  paid  her  by  that  gentleman  and  his  wife. 

The  day  after  their  arrival,  Mr.  Longley  brought  a  gen 
tleman  home  with  him  to  dinner,  whom  Sibyl  instantly  rec 
ognized  as  her  old  friend  Judge  Simmons. 

"  Monroe,  Monroe,"  he  repeated,  as   Mr.  Longley  intro 
duced  her,  looking  her  full  in  the  face.     "  Can  it  be  ?     Are 
you  indeed  little  Sibyl  ?  " 
22 


338  SIBYL. 

The  good  old  gentleman,  grown  a  trifle  stouter  since  we 
last  met  him,  was  really  delighted  to  meet  her  again,  and 
highly  elated  with  this  evidence  of  the  acuteness  of  his  per 
ceptive  powers  in  detecting  faces.  On  learning  that  her 
mother  was  with  her,  but  had  kept  her  room  on  account  of 
a  bad  headache,  he  would  not  have  her  disturbed,  but  prom 
ised  to  call  next  morning  with  Julia  —  Julia  was  in  town 
with  him,  and  would  be  so  pleased  to  see  Sibyl  again. 

She  was  pleased.  The  proud,  brilliantly-beautiful  girl 
came  with  her  father,  and  spent  a  happy  hour  in  recalling 
her  childish  days.  At  first,  the  old  leaven  of  false  pride 
stirred  in  Elsie's  heart,  and  she  declared  she  could  never 
endure  to  see  them  in  such  "  changed  circumstances." 

"  Changed  fiddlesticks  !  "  said  aunt  Cook,  as  she  resolutely 
tucked  Elsie's  arm  under  her  own,  and  led  the  way  down 
stairs  ;  "  what  have  the  ups  and  downs  of  life  to  do  with  the 
estimates  of  sensible  people  ?  Don't  attribute  to  other  people 
your  own  foolish  pride." 

And  the  foolish  pride  vanished  like  frostwork  before  the 
sun,  in  the  kind,  friendly  presence  of  her  old  friends.  In 
deed,  the  sad  changes  she  had  suffered  won  for  her,  from  both 
father  and  daughter,  a  deeper,  truer  respect  than  she  had 
ever  called  forth  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity  and  beauty  ; 
and  when  they  both  insisted  upon  Sibyl's  remaining  behind, 
and  spending  a  few  weeks  with  them  at  their  old  home  near 
IJndercliff,  she  was  the  first  to  urge  her  to  accept  it. 

^  It  may  be  the  means  of  placing  you  in  the  society  and 
position  to  which  you  belong,  Sibyl,"  suggested  the  old 
leaven  again. 


OLD     FRIENDS     AGAIN.  339 

"  Nonsense !  your  position  is  just  that  place  in  which 
your  own  worth  and  the  will  of  God  place  you,  child ! " 
said  aunt  Cook,  who  had  overheard  the  mother's  remark. 
"  No  bolstering  will  ever  keep  you  in  any  other  place.  But 
you  had  best  go  with  these  people.  It  will  be  pleasant  for 
you.  You  can  join  us  with  those  friends  of  theirs,  who  they 
say  are  coming  to  Cleveland ;  besides,  it  suits  my  plans. 
It  is  time  your  mother  was  taught  to  go  alone  ;  and  she 
never  will  as  long  as  you  are  with  her  —  that's  certain.  If 
she  is  willing  to  make  the  effort,  don't  you  put  a  stumbling 
block  in  her  way." 

"  But  you  forget  how  much  she  has  suffered." 

"  No  ;  I  only  wish  that  she  shall  profit  by  it.  Will  you 
get  out  of  the  way  and  leave  me  a  clear  field  ?  " 

Sibyl  promised,  and  the  next  week  she  was  amidst  the 
scenes  of  her  childhood. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

WERE  they  the  same  —  those  hills  and  waters  ?  Were 
they  true  to  the  picture  she  had  so  long  worn  in  her  heart  ? 
Was  it  home  ?  She  tried  to  think  so  ;  but  those  who  have 
returned  to  the  old  place  after  many  years'  absence,  or 
those  who  have  gazed  upon  one  of  Doughty's  still  autumn 
landscapes  until  the  very  absence  of  life,  the  sense  of  lone 
liness,  touches  the  fountain  of  tears,  will  understand  her 
failure.  The  presence  of  the  eternal  beauty  still  infolded 
the  whole  scene,  but  the  living  interest,  the  hearts  that  she 
had  loved  were  gone,  Still  it  was  pleasant  to  be  there. 
The  courtesy  of  the  owners  opened  to  her  the  grounds  of 
Undercliff,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  on  the  moss  terrace 
and  recall  memories  of  her  father  and  old  Lydia  —  to  gaze 
on  the  old  hills  and  the  deep,  black  mountain  gorge.  She 
has  never  forgotten  them  ;  but  she  has  faced  life  and  death 
since  she  saw  them  last,  and,  in  the  light  of  this  experience, 
the  old  monkish  legend  has  become  clear  to  her.  She 
recognizes  the  burden,  and  thanks  God  for  the  strength 
which  has  enabled  her  to  bear  it  thus  far. 

She  was  grateful  to  Julia  and  her  father  for  their  con 
siderate  kindness  in  postponing  the  visits  of  several  fashion- 

(340) 


AT     UNDERCLIFF.  341 

able  guests,  and  inviting  only  such  of  her  old  girlish  ac 
quaintances  as  they  thought  she  would  like  to  see.  But 
she  felt  that  her  mother  was  mistaken  —  that  was  not  her 
position  ;  and  when  the  four  weeks  —  the  term  of  her  visit 
— had  elapsed,  no  entreaties  could  induce  her  to  stay  longer, 
though  George,  the  well-remembered  brother,  was  expected 
home  from  college,  and  Julia  averred  that  he  would  never 
forgive  her  if  she  permitted  her  to  go  without  giving  him  an 
opportunity  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  her. 

Seeing  her  decided,  the  judge  proposed  that  Julia  and 
himself  should  accompany  her  as  far  as  Buffalo.  The  kind 
old  man  pretended  to  have  business  there,  and  the  daughter 
helped  on  the  ruse.  The  journey  was  pleasant,  and  Sibyl 
often  recalled  the  one  which  she  had  taken  under  his  pro 
tection  many  years  before,  especially  when  she  witnessed 
the  warmth  with  which  he  recommended  her  to  the  care  of 
some  acquaintances  of  his,  a  gentleman  with  his  wife  and 
children,  whom  they  met  at  the  hotel  waiting  to  take  the 
boat  to  Cleveland. 

The  "  Erie "  was  to  leave  that  night,  and  her  friends 
accompanied  her  on  board.  Julia,  whose  position  as  house 
keeper  at  home,  had  given  her  a  sort  of  motherly  fore 
thought,  must  see  herself  that  Sibyl's  state-room  and  accom 
modations  were  comfortable,  and  her  more  "  last  words " 
were  still  unfinished  when  the  bell  rang. 

As  they  turned  to  leave,  Julia  suddenly  grasped  her  fath 
er's  arm,  and  pointed  to  a  gentleman,  who,  with  a  !a<!y  on 
his  arm,  had  just  come  on  board,  and  was  forcing  a  passage 
through  the  crowd,  saying, — 


342  SIBYL. 

"  See,  is  not  that  the  Mr.  "Wentworth  whom  we  met  at 
Mr.  Longley's  ?  It  is  —  and  the  lady  is  Miss  Drummond, 
whom  he  is  going  to  many.  The  Hardenbergs  were  talk 
ing  about  it  when  I  was  there,  and  they  pointed  her  out  to 
me  at  the  opera.  Perhaps  they  are  married." 

"  By  Jove,  I  believe  you  are  right,  Julia ! '  exclaimed 
the  old  judge,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Wentworth's 
face.  "A  fortunate  meeting  for  you,  little  Sibyl,"  he  went 
on  ;  "for  he  is  just  the  man  to  take  care  of  you  in  case  of 
accident.  Sandys  is  well  enough,  but  he  has  his  hands  full 
with  his  wife  and  children.  Let  me  introduce  you." 

Sibyl  had  no  need  to  be  told  who  it  Avas  thus  making  his 
way  through  the  crowd  in  that  decided  manner,  though  she 
did  not  see  his  face ;  and  resisting  Judge  Simmons's  motion 
to  return,  she  begged  to  be  excused,  professing  herself  satis 
fied  with  the  escort  of  the  Sandys. 

"  Well,  you  must  have  your  way,  I  suppose  ;  but  you'll 
be  sorry.  He's  a  fine  fellow ;  somewhere  from  your  region, 
too,  and  would  be  a  pleasant  acquaintance." 

"  Let  Sibyl  be,  papa,"  said  Julia,  who  had  been  some 
what  puzzled  at  her  companion's  anxious  face,  and  suddenly 
divining,  as  she  supposed,  the  cause.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
if  the  gentleman  is,  as  I  surmise,  on  a  wedding  tour,  she 
would  feel  herself  de  trop  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  see  !  No,  Madam  Surmise,  I  see  nothing  but 
two  wilful  girls,  whose  heads  run  on  marriages,"  said  the 
judge,  good  humoredly.  "  But  come,  daughter,  we  must 
inake  haste,  else  we  shall  be  forced  to  escort  her  ourselves." 


MEETING    ACQUAINTANCES.  343 

So  it  is  true,  thought  Sibyl,  as  she  sat  in  her  state  room 
after  parting  with  her  friends.  She  felt  no  surprise,  but 
rather  relief.  Months  before,  in  the  silence  of  her  own 
room,  she  had  held  reckoning  with  her  heart ;  the  bare 
nerves  had  trembled  and  shrunk  with  an  agony  like  death, 
beneath  the  touch  of  truth ;  but  she  did  not  turn  away,  or 
palter  with  the  cunning  voices  of  falsehood  or  self-deceit ; 
and  now  she  reaped  the  blessing. 

It  was  this  consciousness  that  gave  to  her  voice  its  stead 
iness,  and  her  manner  the  calm  self-possession,  when  she 
found  herself,  with  the  Sandys  party,  occupying  seats  di 
rectly  opposite  Mr.  Went  worth  and  his  cousin,  at  the  sup 
per  table,  and  met  his  surprised,  but  apparently  pleased 
recognition,  and  replied  to  the  lady's  somewhat  patronizing 
queries.  "  So  Judge  Simmons  and  his  daughter  are  old 
friends  of  yours,  Miss  Monroe.  Why,  you.  never  even 
mentioned  their  names  all  the  while  you  were  with  us  at 
aunt  Wentworth's,  and  they  such  distinguished  people  ;  the 
Hardenbergs  are  always  talking  about  them,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Drummond,  as  they  rose  from  the  table. 

"  I  had  no  occasion  to  mention  them,  as  I  remember," 
replied  Sibyl,  quietly. 

Mr.  Wentworth  smiled,  and  Sibyl  could  hardly  repress 
an  inclination  to  do  the  same  when  she  caught  the  quiet 
sarcasm  of  his  tones,  as  he  said, — 

"  We  must  not  be  too  hard  on  Miss  Monroe.  She  is 
country  bred,  and  has  not  yet  learned  to  wear  her  friends 
as  an  advertisement,  Agnes." 


344  SIBYL. 

That  was  no  bridegroom's  tone ;  and  half  puzzled,  half 
doubting,  Sibyl  turned  to  follow  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sandys,  when 
Miss  Agnes  seized  her  by  the  arm,  and  insisted  upon  her 
accompanying  her  on  deck.  "  It  is  so  stupid  to  be  all  alone 
with  no  one  to  talk  to  in  such  a  crowd." 

"  All  alone,"  thought  Sibyl,  with  a  glance  at  Mr.  Went- 
worth,  as  he  lingered  behind  to  speak  with  some  acquaint 
ance. 

Miss  Drummond  observed  the  movement,  and  reading 
her  thought,  said,  "  Of  course,  cousin  Ernest  is  good  com 
pany  ;  no  one  better,  when  he  chooses  to  be ;  but  then, 
one  can't  talk  to  him  as  one  can  to  most  folks ;  besides,  he 
has  been  in  a  brown  study  ever  since  we  left  home.  lie  is 
very  anxious  about  some  business  affairs  in  New  Orleans,  I 
know,  or  he  would  never  have  taken  this  sudden  journey ; 
indeed,  he  told  mamma  so,  when  she  begged  him  to  wait  a 
week  or  two,  that  I  might  visit  our  friends  in  St.  Louis 
under  his  escort;  but  that  does  not  make  it  less  tiresome 
for  me.  It's  too  bad,  after  all  mamma's  hurry  to  get  me 
ready." 

At  home,  Miss  Agnes  Drummond  would  hardly  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  have  gone  through  with  this  frank  ex 
planation  to  Sibyl ;  indeed,  had  she  been  conscious  of  the 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  her  words  caused  in  Sibyl's  heart, 
she  might  have  withheld  them ;  but  she  did  not  notice  even 
the  nervous  gathering  of  the  shawl  over  her  bosom,  as  if 
that  could  help  hide  her  emotion.  She  was  really  anxious 
for  the  company  of  some  one  into  whose  cars  she  could 


THE     GROUP    ON     DECK.  345 

pour  that  volley  of  small  talk  —  the  story  of  her  sufferings 
and  annoyances,  which  instinct  taught  her  would  meet  with 
little  sympathy  from  her  cousin ;  besides,  Sibyl's  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Simmonses  had  given  her  quite  a  new  interest 
in  her  eyes. 

Mr.  "Wentworth  soon  joined  them  on  the  deck,  but 
seemed,  as  his  cousin  had  said,  in  no  mood  for  conversation ; 
for  after  answering  one  or  two  questions  about  Rockville 
affairs,  he  took  a  seat  behind  them,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 
Once  or  twice,  as  the  boat  veered,  and  a  fresh  wind  struck 
them,  a  hand  thoughtfully  lifted  her  heavy  shawl  to  her 
shoulders,  and  Sibyl  received  the  attention,  as  silently  as  it 
was  given. 

Suddenly  Miss  Drummond  interrupted  herself  in  the 
midst  of  some  remark  with,  — 

"  Certainly  there  is  Albert  Hurst,  the  Hardenbergs'  cous 
in  ;  look,  Ernest !  there,  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  saloon, 
talking  with  that  brilliant-looking  woman.  I  hope  he  will 
come  this  way.  He  is  such  agreeable  company." 

He  did  come  that  way  ;  Miss  Drummond  was  altogether 
too  conspicuous  for  both  beauty  and  dress,  to  be  overlooked 
by  a  fashionable  young  gentleman ;  others  were  not  so 
blind  as  Ernest  Wentworth ;  and  with  a  glance  that  said 
something  like  this,  she  accepted  the  young  man's  arm,  and 
was  soon  promenading  the  long  saloon,  the  "  observed  of  all 
observers." 

Sibyl  does  not  look  round ;  she  knows  the  chair  which 
Agnes  had  vacated  is  already  occupied ;  but  there  seems 


346  SIBYL. 

a  sort  of  spell  upon  her,  and  half  vexed  at  herself  for  even 
recognizing  such  a  weakness,  she  attempts  to  break  it ;  and 
catching  at  Miss  Agnes  and  her  partner,  who  are  slowly 
pacing  that  way,  she  says  something  about  their  being  a 
fine-looking  couple. 

"  Who,  Agnes  and  Hurst  ?  Yes  ;  I  fancy  he  is  quite  a 
favorite  with  Agnes,  from  what  I  have  seen  of  them  at  the 
Hardenbergs  ;  or  would  be,  if  my  excellent  aunt  admitted 
the  possibility  of  a  young  lady's  having  an  independent 
movement  of  her  own  mind." 

How  coolly  and  quietly  he  speaks !  how  ridiculous  in 
you,  Sibyl,  to  feel  so  disturbed  !  Shake  off  this  spell ;  it  is 
weak,  disgraceful.  Remember  it  is  Ernest  Weutworth  who 
sits  by  your  side  —  the  stern  foe  of  weakness  and  tears. 

She  can,  at  least,  hold  her  tongue,  seeing  that  is  a  virtue 
she  can  practise  on  occasion ;  but  it  is  strange  what  a  pas 
sion  for  speech  has  come  over  our  usually  quiet  Sibyl. 

The  silence  which  follows  his  words  seems  to  choke  her 
—  it  is  unendurable,  suffocating,  like  the  hot  silence  of  the 
desert  that  precedes  the  sirocco ;  she  must  break  it  in  self- 
preservation,  and  she  blunders  (it  seemed  to  her  a  blunder) 
upon  her  mother's  former  project  of  going  west,  and  his 
efforts  to  dissuade  her.  The  ice  once  broken,  she  finds  her 
voice,  and  goes  on  with  an  attempt  at  gayety. 

"  For  once  you  were  a  false  prophet,  Mr.  Wentworth. 
You  said  I  would  not  go  ;  but  here  I  am  on  the  way,  and, 
stranger  still,  you  are  with  me." 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  been  mistaken.     Master 


A     TETE-A-TETE.  347 

Richard  would  say  that  man  proposes  but  God  disposes, 
and  I  never  was  more  inclined  to  accept  the  doctrine. 
Sibyl,"  he  goes  on  speaking  rapidly,  "  do  you  remember  a 
discussion  we  once  had  about  the  religious  devotees  of  the 
hair  shirt  and  scourge,  —  the  Stylites  of  the  world,  who  mis 
take  self  for  God,  for  whom  I  had  nothing  but  scorn,  where 
you  saw  tokens  of  a  noble  but  misdirected  will  ?  Are  you 
as  lenient  now  ?  With  a  wilfulness  equal  to  theirs,  a  blindness 
more  culpable,  because  voluntary,  I  have  misinterpreted 
my  heart.  I  have  called  pride  strength,  weakness  wisdom. 
I  have  been  a  coward,  for  I  would  not  see  the  truth,  and  — 
I  have  suffered.  To  this  let  me  add,  that  I  am  so  selfish  as 
to  hope  that  I  have  made  another  suffer  also  ;  at  least 
enough  to  make  her  forgiveness  worth  the  having.  Is 
there  any  hope,  Sibyl  ?  " 

If  he  won  an  answer,  he  must  have  read  it  in  the  happy 
eyes  that  were  for  one  moment  lifted  to  his  face ;  for  at  that 
moment,  Miss  Drummond  touched  his  shoulder  with  the 
point  of  her  parasol,  saying,  — 

"  It  must  be  that  you  are  exceedingly  interested,  cousin 
Ernest,  for  I  have  been  striving  to  catch  your  eye  for  some 
moments,  to  conjure  you  not  to  quite  ruin  my  fan.  I  shall 
hardly  be  able  to  procure  another  this  side  of  Cleveland. 
There  it  is,  beneath  your  foot." 

"  You  are  right,  Agnes,"  he  replied,  as  he  handed  her  the 
article  in  question,  and  rose  to  return  Mr.  Hurst's  greeting, 
who,  drawing  up  a  chair  for  Miss  Drummond,  begged  per 
mission  to  join  their  group. 


348  SIBYL. 

Sibyl  would  gladly  have  escaped,  and  Mr.  Wentworth, 
comprehending  her  feeling,  said,  — 

"  Sibyl,  is  not  that  bald-headed  gentleman,  in  the  crowd 
yonder,  your  friend,  Mr.  Sandys  ?  He  is  evidently  looking 
for  some  one  ;  possibly  yourself.  Let  me  take  you  to  him  ; 
for  I  think  Agnes  and  I  owe  him  an  apology  for  taking  you 
away." 

"You  tremble,  Miss  Monroe,  and  your  face  looks  flushed 
and  feverish,"  said  the  benevolent,  care-taking  Mr.  Sandys, 
as  he  drew  her  arm  within  his  to  lead  her  below.  "  Are 
you  sure  that  you  have  not  taken  cold  ?  " 

Ah,  Mr.  Sandys,  since  she  sat  at  your  side  at  the  supper 
table,  she  has  passed  from  the  stern,  barren,  isolated  ice 
region  into  the  warmth  and  light  of  the  beautiful  tropics  of 
Life  and  Hope,  and  you  see  only  the  febrile  symptoms  of 
cold !  So  little  do  we  know  of  the  miracles  of  life ! 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

DID  she  sleep  ?  No  ;  the  atmosphere  of  that  region  was 
too  full  of  strange  and  holy  happiness  for  the  presence  of 
even  this  gentlest  of  all  earth's  angels.  She  who  had  passed 
so  many  lonely,  anxious  nights,  shall  she  not  keep  one 
watch  with  Happiness  ?  How  those  nights  come  back 
now,  as  she  sits  by  the  open  window  of  her  state  room  — 
the  nights  and  the  days  that  lie  away  back  in  her  childhood, 
her  father,  old  Lydia  Blair,  and  her  oft-repeated  prayer : 
"Not  that  thou  shouldst  take  her  from  the  world,  but 
that  thou  shouldst  keep  her  from  the  evil ! "  and  her  eyes 
fill  with  happy,  grateful  tears,  as  she  thinks  how  that  prayer 
has  been  fulfilled.  The  veil  of  Circumstance  is  drawn 
aside,  and  she  sees  the 


" helpers  God  has  sent, 

And  how  life's  rugged  mountain  side 
Is  white  with  many  an  angel  tent." 

But,  hark !  there  is  a  sudden  rush  on  deck,  a  brief  pause, 
a  confused  running  to  and  fro,  and  then  that  cry,  —  a  loud, 
terrible  cry,  piercing  to  the  lowest  depths  of  the  boat,  and 
cleaving  the  hollow  night  air,  —  "  Fire  !  fire  !  fire  !  " 

(349) 


350  SIBYL. 

O  God,  the  boat  is  on  fire ! 

Instantly  the  cabin  is  a  scene  of  terror  and  confusion. 
The  boat  is  crowded  with  passengers,  and  mothers  spring 
from  their  sleep  to  clasp  their  children  to  the  breast  in  wild, 
speechless  agony,  or  wring  their  hands  at  the  thought  of  the 
loving  faces  they  should  never  see  again.  Young  bride 
grooms  and  brides  wake  from  their  dreams  of  a  happy 
Eldorado  in  the  far  west,  to  face  Death  in  his  most  horrible 
form,  and  stand  clinging  to  each  other  in  terror  and  dismay, 
while  little  children,  scarcely  conscious  of  their  danger, 
weep  loudly  at  the  sight  of  their  mothers'  tears.  Here  and 
there  a  solitary  woman, — just  what  Sibyl  had  been  a  few 
hours  before,  —  with  none  of  the  strong  ties  of  life  upon  her, 
yet  still  holding  it  dear  for  the  sake  of  its  sad  and  happy 
memories  and  its  still  lingering  hopes,  stands  pale,  silent, 
and  quiet,  watching  each  face,  in  order  to  learn  the  chances 
of  her  fate. 

Sibyl  is  giving  all  her  attention  to  Mrs.  Sandys  and  her 
children,  conscious  that  there  is  one  on  board  who  will  care 
for  her  safety,  if  safety  is  possible,  when,  as  if  simultaneously 
recovering  from  the  stupor  of  the  first  fearful  shock,  there 
is  a  rush  for  the  deck.  It  is  in  vain  to  resist  the  pressure, 
and  she  is  borne  along  with  the  crowd,  lifting  high  the  little 
Bell  Sandys  in  her  arms,  to  save  her  from  being  crushed. 

As  she  reaches  the  deck,  there  is  a  grasp  on  her  arm. 
The  thick  smoke  makes  all  things  indistinguishable  ;  but 
she  knows  the  touch  —  firm,  resolute,  and  unyielding, 
checking  the  impetus  of  those  behind  by  its  unexpected  force. 


THE    BOAT     ON    FIRE.  351 

"  This  way,  Sibyl.  One  brave  effort ;  there,  you  are  clear 
for  a  moment.  Be  quiet,  and  let  me  help  Mr.  Sandys ; " 
for  the  worthy  parents  were  instinctively  striving  to  follow 
the  child  which  she  still  held  in  her  arms. 

"  I  should  have  come  for  you  before,"  he  says,  "  but 
Agnes,  whose  state  room  adjoined  mine,  on  the  upper  deck, 
is  well  nigh  frantic.  I  left  her  yonder/'  he  adds,  as,  with 
one  arm  round  her  waist,  he  forces  a  way  towards  the  spot 
indicated. 

"  O  Ernest,  Ernest,  save  me !  for  the  love  of  Heaven, 
save  me  ! "  screamed  the  terrified  girl  at  their  approach, 
springing  from  the  pile  of  boxes  upon  which  she  had  sunk, 
half  fainting,  when  he  left  her.  See,  they  are  lowering 
a  boat !  Put  me  into  it,  Ernest.  I  shall  die  here ! 
Make  them  let  me  pass !  See ! "  and  her  'whole  frame 
shrank  and  quivered  with  death-like  agony,  as  a  long 
tongue  of  flame  burst  through  the  stout  plank  not  many 
feet  behind  them. 

They  were  indeed  making  all  haste  with  the  boats  ;  and 
it  was  needed,  for  the  fire  was  spreading  rapidly.  The 
dense  smoke  was  already  parted  by  the  fierce,  leaping  flames, 
that  sent  their  lurid,  angry  glow  far  over  the  still,  black 
waters,  while  the  cries  and  groans,  the  loud  shrieks  of  the 
poor  emigrants  on  the  forward  deck,  who  already  felt  the 
scorching  heat,  added  tenfold  terror  to  the  scene. 

"  Not  there  —  not  in  that  boat,"  cried  Mr.  "Wentworth, 
holding  his  cousin  by  main  strength.  "  See,  it  is  already 
overloaded.  It  can  never  reach  the  shore  ; "  and  even  as 


3o2  SIBYL. 

he  .spoke,  almost  before  it  had  left  the  ship  side,  the  crowded 
boat,  into  which  so  many  had  thrown  themselves  in  frenzy, 
went  down  with  her  living  freight,  leaving  scarcely  a  ripple 
upon  the  glowing  water. 

Agnes  covered  her  eyes,  with  a  shriek,  and  sank  fainting 
upon  Sibyl's  shoulder.  Her  cousin  seized  her  arm  —  not 
lightly,  for  the  grasp  drew  from  her  a  scream  of  pain. 

"  House  yourself,  Agnes,  if  you  really  wish  to  escape  !  " 
he  said.  "  See,  they  have  already  lowered  another  boat; 
this  time  they  will  be  wiser.  Now  you  shall  go." 

lie  pressed  forward  with  the  strength  of  a  giant,  and  his 
cousin  was  swinging  over  the  side,  and  caught  in  the  arms 
of  a  stout  sailor,  almost  before  she  knew  it.  Then  she  hud 
time  to  think  of  him  —  of  Sibyl ;  and  she  reached  out  her 
arms,  imploring  them  to  join  her. 

His  hand  was  already  on  Sibyl's  shoulder,  when  she  sud 
denly  drew  back,  and  pointed  to  Mrs.  Sandys  and  the  chil 
dren. 

"  Take  them  first ;  I  can  wait.  See !  Mr.  Sandys  is  stu 
pefied." 

He  hesitated  a  moment ;  then  flashing  a  proud,  bright 
smile  upon  her,  obeyed,  while  Mr.  Sandys,  roused  by  the 
movement,  attempted  to  assist  with  his  trembling  hands. 

But  there  is  a  movement  among  the  crowd ;  it  sways  a 
moment,  and  then,  with  a  force  which  it  would  be  madness 
to  attempt  to  resist,  Sibyl  is  borne  to  the  extreme  after  por 
tion  of  the  boat ;  and  turning  her  eyes  back,  she  covers 
them,  with  a  quick,  sharp  cry  of  agony,  for  the  whole  mid- 


AMID     THE     FLAMES.  353 

die  portion  of  the  vessel  —  even  the  spot  where  she  had 
lately  stood  —  was  a  sheet  of  flame. 

O,  this  fearful  death !  To  watch  the  forked  tongues  leap 
ing  nearer  and  nearer ;  to  feel  the  hot,  suffocating  breath 
scorching  lip,  and  tongue,  and  throat ;  to  gasp  for  a  breath 
of  heaven's  fresh  air,  and  draw  in  only  the  thick,  hot 
smoke ;  to  stand  chained  between  the  hungry,  devouring 
flames,  and  the  black,  pitiless  sea,  and  know  that  either  is 
certain  death ! 

God  help  such  as  these !  Closer  and  closer  strides  the 
angi'y  element ;  many  are  already  flinging  themselves  into 
the  lake  to  escape  the  crisping  heat.  Sibyl  knows  this  fate 
must  soon  be  hers ;  when  a  scorched  and  blackened  figure 
stood  by  her  side,  saying  — 

"  Thank  God,  I  am  not  too  late !  You  will  trust  me, 
Sibyl!" 

She  placed  both  hands  in  his,  as  she  answered,  "  In  life 
and  in  death." 

"  Then,  please  God,  it  shall  be  life." 

He  hastily  took  the  long  merino  scarf  she  had  thrown 
over  her  shoulders,  and  knotted  it  around  his  waist,  as  he 
said,  — 

"  We  are  not  far  from  shore,  Sibyl.  The  boat  was  headed 
that  way  as  soon  as  the  fire  broke  out,  and  even  since  the 
engine  stopped,  the  wind  has  continued  to  drift  us  forward. 
Yonder  are  lights,  —  Erie  lights,  I  think,  —  and  boats  will 
surely  put  off  to  our  rescue.  I  shall  attempt  to  swim,  and 
you  must  hold  to  this  scarf —  thus  —  do  you  understand  ?  " 
23 


354  SIBYL. 

"Leave  me!  Burdened  with  me,  it  will  be  certain 
death !  I  will  not  go.  O,  leave  me,  but  remember  my 
mother,  Ernest." 

He  folded  his  arms  determinedly.  "  You  said  in  life  and 
in  death,  Sibyl.  If  you  choose  death,  be  it  so.  See  ! "  he 
added;  "there  are  boats  —  lights  yonder.  You  must 
obey  me  ! "  and  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  he  sprang  over  the 
side. 


When  Sibyl  next  awoke  to  consciousness,  she  was  lying 
in  a  low,  pleasant  chamber,  the  windows  of  which  over 
looked  a  broad  sweep  of  country,  rich  with  the  shows  of 
autumn.  She  could  see  no  water ;  but  the  low,  hushed 
sound  of  waves,  breaking  on  the  beach,  helped  to  recall  her 
wandering  memory,  and  explain  the  scene.  There  was  a 
sound  of  female  voices,  talking  in  a  low  tone,  near  by ;  one 
sounded  familiar,  and  very  soon  a  high,  light  screen  was  set 
aside,  and  Agnes  Drummond  came  forward  to  her  bedside. 

The  better  elements  in  Agnes'  character  had  been  thor 
oughly  roused  by  that  night  of  trial,  and  there  was  no  mis 
taking  her  joy  when  she  found  Sibyl  awake,  in  full  posses 
sion  of  her  senses. 

Sibyl's  first  inquiry  was  for  Mr.  Wentworth. 

"  He  is  below,  confined  to  his  room  by  burns  and  bruises, 
and  has  been  almost  as  wild  as  you ;  one  arm  is  badly  in 
jured,  and  he  can  scarcely  stir  now.  O,  dear  !  between  you 
both  I've  been  frightened  to  death.  When  I  saw  how  bad 
Ernest  was,  I  telegraphed  to  aunt  Wentworth  at  once,  and 


RESCUED.  355 

she  will  be  here  to-morrow.  Dear,  here  I  am  talking,  and 
Mrs.  Brown  said  I  mustn't  speak  a  word !  " 

She  was  turning  resolutely  away,  when  Sibyl  feebly 
caught  her  gown. 

"  Stay,  Miss  Agnes  ;  you  must  speak ;  it  will  do  me 
good.  Tell  me  about  yourself,  and  the  Sandys,  and  Mr. 
Hurst,  too.  Are  they  all  saved  ?  And  who  is  Mrs.  Brown  ?" 

"  All  saved.  Mr.  Hurst  was  in  the  boat  with  us.  I 
think  I  should  have  died  if  it  had  not  been  for  him.  And 
those  people  whom  you  made  Ernest  put  into  the  boat  — 
they  think  you  are  an  angel,  Sibyl ;  and  I  think  you  must 
be  something  more  than  human,  to  have  staid  behind.  How 
could  you  do  it  ?  "  she  added,  shuddering,  as  she  placed  her 
hands  before  her  eyes.  "  I  can  see  those  flames  now !  It 
seemed  like  certain  death." 

"  But  you  see  it  was  not  certain  death,  Agnes.  Now, 
tell  me  who  Mrs.  Brown  is,  and  where  we  are." 

"  Mrs.  Brown  is  the  mistress  of  this  house  —  the  wife 
of  a  kind-hearted  farmer.  You  are  near  Erie,  where  most 
of  the  survivors  are,  or  such  as  have  not  already  left ;  for  it 
is  three  days  since  the  wreck.  I  have  acquaintances  there, 
with  whom  I  am  staying.  You  and  cousin  Ernest  could 
not  be  moved ;  so  I  come  out  here  every  day  to  see  you. 
But  I  must  not  talk  —  at  least  no  more  to-day ;  I  shall  come 
with  aunt  Wentworth  to-morrow." 

"  Stay  ;  you  did  not  telegraph  to  my  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  but  Mr.  Sandys  did ;  he  knew  the  address,  and 
told  her  you  were  safe.  And  now  not  another  word."  So 


3oG  SIBYL. 

kissing  Sibyl's  pale  forehead,  the  beautiful  Agnes  Drum- 
mond  ran  away. 

A  few  moments  after  her  exit,  a  young,  rosy-cheeked 
girl  entered  with  a  bowl  of  savory  broth. 

"  Mother  says  you  must  eat  this,  miss,  and  you  will  soon 
be  well,"  she  said,  as  she  arranged  the  pillowrs,  and  spread 
a  snowy  napkin  before  her,  with  the  ready  tact  of  a  prac 
tised  nurse. 

Sibyl  took  the  sustenance,  to  the  delight  of  her  young 
attendant,  who  stood  by,  watching  her  slightest  motion  ;  but 
this  done,  she  could  not  induce  her  to  assist  her  to  dress. 

"  You  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing,  miss.  The  doctor 
said  you  must  be  kept  quiet,  only  last  night,  and  I  don't 
know  what  he'll  do  if  I  let  you  get  up.  He's  terrible  cross 
when  people  don't  mind  him.  At  least,  wait  until  I  call 
mother,"  she  added,  seeing  Sibyl  only  smile  at  her  dread  of 
the  doctor. 

She  disappeared,  and  a  motherly-looking  woman  soon  en 
tered.  Sibyl  thanked  her  earnestly  for  all  her  kindness,  and 
learned  from  her  that  Mr.  Wentworth  and  she  had  been 
picked  up  by  a  boat,  manned  by  her  husband  and  two  sons. 

"  He  was  almost  exhausted,  and  you  were  quite  senseless, 
miss ;  but  we  soon  brought  you  to,  though  you  have  been  a 
little  wandering  since,  from  the  fright.  No  wonder.  He, 
poor  man,  can  hardly  move  yet." 

"  He  saved  my  life,  and  I  must  go  down  and  see  him.  I 
can  lie  here  no  longer,"  said  Sibyl,  hastily  rising. 

"  And  so  carelessly  risk  it  again.     The  gentleman  would 


THE     INVALIDS.  357 

hardly  approve  of  that,"  said  the  woman.  Then,  pitying 
Sibyl's  disappointed  look,  and  deeply  sympathizing  with  the 
feeling  she  was  forced  to  oppose,  she  added,  "  ATait  until 
afternoon,  miss,  and  then,  if  you  feel  right  smart,  we'll  see 
about  it." 

She  was  "  right  smart,"  for  she  felt  she  must  see  him 
now.  She  shrank  from  the  thought  of  waiting  to  meet  him 
in  the  presence  of  his  mother  ;  besides,  Hope  and  Resolve 
are  better  tonics  than  any  in  the  old  doctor's  possession. 
Her  own  brown  travelling  dress  was  ruined,  but  pretty 
Ellen  Brown  had  a  neat  wardrobe  at  her  service,  and  in  one 
of  her  printed  wrappers,  with  Mrs.  Brown's  great  blanket 
shawl  folded  around  her  by  the  good  woman's  motherly 
hands,  she  descended  the  stairs,  leaning  on  her  arm. 

They  landed  in  a  small  entry,  and  when  Mrs.  Brown 
flung  open  one  of  the  doors  which  led  from  it,  and  suddenly 
withdrew  her  arm,  all  Sibyl's  strength  seemed  to  go  with  it, 
and  she  stood  clinging  to  the  door  for  support,  dimly  con 
scious  of  the  figure  that  lay  stretched  on  a  rustic  lounge  at 
the  farther  side  of  the  room. 

«  Sibyl !     My  Sibyl !  " 

The  words  had  in  them  a  talismanic  power.  She  sprang 
across  the  room,  and  knelt  at  his  side,  while  his  uninjured 
arm  was  folded  around  her,  and  drew  her  closer  and  closer 
to  his  breast,  as  he  whispered,  — 

"  Mine,  mine  !  and  thank  God  it  is  in  life !  Is  it  not  so, 
Sibyl?" 

This  time  he  had  his  answer ;  but  that  was  not  enough. 


358  SIBYL. 

"When  was  Ernest  Wentworth  otherwise  than  impetuous 
and  exacting? 

There  is  a  bustle  without.  A  carriage  drives  up  to  the 
door,  but  they  do  not  heed  —  scarcely  hear  it ;  a  quick,  firm 
step  comes  along  the  gravel  walk,  and  enters  the  little  entry 

—  a  hand  is  on  the  door  latch,  and  a  well-known  voice 
says,  somewhat  imperiously,  — 

"  No,  no  ;  my  son  is  expecting  me,  of  course." 

Sibyl  starts  and  would  escape ;  but  he  holds  her  fast,  as 
the  door  is  thrown  open,  and  his  mother  appears  on  the 
threshold. 

She  does  not  advance,  but  stands  a  moment  gazing  at 
them  ;  while  surprise,  disappointment,  wounded  feeling,  not 
unmixed  with  anger  and  jealousy,  cloud  and  darken  her 
proud  face. 

"  I  beg  pardon ;  I  see  I  should  have  caused  my  arrival 
to  be  announced,"  she  says,  as  she  turns  away. 

"  Mother,  mother ! "  cries  the  son,  attempting  to  rise,  and 
sinking  back  upon  Sibyl's  shoulder,  pale  with  the  keen  pain 
the  sudden  effort  caused  him  —  '•'  mother,  have  you  no  words 
for  me  but  these  ?  no  room  in  your  heart  for  any  save  me  ? 
I  will  not  believe  it.  You  have  often  mourned  over  my 
hopeless,  restless  life ;  you  have  not  said  it,  but  I  know  it 
is  true.  See,  mother,"  —  and  again  he  draws  Sibyl  to  him, 

—  "  here  are  my  rest  and  my  hope  !  " 

She  cannot  resist  that  plea ;  her  wounded  pride  shrinks 
away  before  her  deep,  motherly  love,  and  crossing  the 


OUT     OF    THE     SHADOW.  359 

room,  she  lays  her  hand  on  his  head,  standing  a  second  in 
silence,  while  the  great  tears  gather  in  her  eyes. 

"  God  bless  you,  Ernest,  my  son !  God  bless  you,  and 
Sibyl  Monroe  too,  and  forgive  me  my  selfishness,"  she  says, 
at  length.  Then  turning  to  Sibyl,  she  stoops  and  kisses 
her  forehead,  as  she  adds,  — 

"  It  is  hard  for  a  mother  to  find  another  before  her  in  her 
son's  heart  —  and  it  came  so  sudden  ;  but  I  shall  learn  in 
time." 


Four  months  later,  Sibyl  Monroe  sat  in  her  quiet  bed 
room  in  the  pleasantest  house  of  all  the  pleasant  houses  in 
Atwater,  Ohio,  with  two  letters  open  before  her.  In  the 
next  room  she  heard  the  strong,  cheerful  voice  of  aunt  Cook 
chatting  with  her  mother,  not  unfrequently  interrupted  by 
the  imperious  tones  of  "  the  Little  Corporal,"  as  the  old 
lady  designates  her  youngest  grandson,  a  boy  of  four  years 
old,  and  the  special  pet  of  her  mother. 

"  Come,  Sibyl !  "  cried  the  cheery  voice,  presently ;  "  I 
think  we  have  been  reasonably  patient.  Have  you  no 
crumbs  of  news  to  bestow  upon  your  mother  and  me  ? 
What  says  Eichard  Fenn?  I  suppose  I  may  ask  that 
without  breach  of  propriety." 

"  He  says  that  we  must  positively  be  in  Eltham  on  the 
eighth  of  May  —  my  twenty-fifth  birthday  —  for  he  has 
business  of  importance  to  transact  with  me  at  that  time." 

"Business  of  importance!  What  can  it  be,  child?" 
exclaimed  Elsie. 


360  SIBYL. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea,  I  am  sure, 
mamma.  There  is  his  letter." 

"  Well,  well,  sure  enough  ! "  said  aunt  Cook,  glancing  at 
the  round,  clerkly  hand,  to  satisfy  herself.  "  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  old  gentleman  is  not  in  his  dotage ;  but  what  says 
the  other  one  ?  He  seconds  the  order,  I  suppose,  for  he 
too  has  important  business  to  transact.  Is  it  not  so,  child  ?  " 

"  He  wishes  us  to  start  as  early  as  possible,  and  will  meet 
us  on  the  way  ;  but " 

"  But  what  ?  He  has  not  gone  in  for  the  unintelligible 
too,  has  he  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it's  all  plain  enough ;  but  he  says  that  the  failure 
of  the  house  of  Bacon  &  Co.,  of  New  Orleans,  will  compel 
him  to  fail  also  —  that  he  is  a  poor  man." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  The  man  is  left,  I  s'pose.  He  has 
his  health  and  his  hands.  You  are  surely  not  so  foolish  as 
to  let  this  influence  you,  Sibyl." 

"  No  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  glad  that  I  am  poor  too ; 
for,  see,  he  says  if  I  were  rich  and  accustomed  to  luxury, 
he  should  hesitate  to  ask  me  to  share  his  lot ;  but  knowing 
my  habits,  he  will  not  insult  me  by  suggesting  even  the 
slightest  change  in  our  plans." 

"  Good  !  I  like  that !  He  is  sensible,  and  you  shall  go. 
I  won't  lay  a  straw  in  the  way.  But  0,  little  Corporal, 
what  shall  we  do  when  aunty  and  Sibyl  are  gone  ?  " 

"  Go  to  see  'em,  grannie.     Ride  on  old  Whity." 

"  That's  it,  Corporal !  "  cried  Sibyl,  catching  him  up  and 
kissing  his  chubby  cheek.  "  Grandmother  shall  have  a  nice 
time  with  mamma  and  Mrs.  Wentworth." 


OUT     OF    THE     SHADOW.  361 

"  You  mean  that  aunt  Cook  and  I  shall  come  to  see  you 
and  Mrs.  Wentworth,  Sibyl,"  said  Elsie  Monroe,  turning 
from  the  window  where  she  had  been  standing ;  "  for  I 
am  to  make  my  home  with  Master  Richard  and  Miss 
Silence." 

"  Mamma ! " 

"  Don't  feel  surprised  or  hurt,  my  child,"  she  went  on,  in 
a  gentle  but  firm  tone ;  "  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  best. 
They  want  me.  There  is  Miss  Silence's  letter ;  she  says 
we  can  help  one  another ;  and  somehow  we  suit  each  other, 
and  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  it  would  be  the  same  with  me 
and  Mrs.  Wentworth  ;  though  doubtless  I  shall  spend  much 
time  with  you.  It  must  be  best,  for  aunt  Cook  thinks  so 
too." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  lady,  answering  Sibyl's  inquiring 
look  ;  "  you  know  my  creed  —  that  one  mother-in-law  is 
too  much  for  a  house,  else  I  should  not  live  alone,  or  bestow 
so  much  of  my  time  upon  my  more  distant  relations.  She 
is  right,  Sibyl ;  and  I  intend  to  enter  the  lists  with  Miss 
Silence,  and  claim  a  visit  from  her  every  other  summer. 
Where  was  the  good  of  looking  her  up,  and  driving  the  life 
into  her  by  my  scoldings,  if  I  am  to  lose  her  now,  I'd  like 
to  know  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

WE  must  return  once  more  to  Master  Kichard  Fenn's. 
It  is  towards  the  close  of  a  balmy  May  day,  and,  with  Sibyl 
by  his  side,  the  old  man  sits  in  his  den,  by  a  small  table, 
which  he  has  drawn  beneath  the  window.  It  is  her 
twenty-fifth  birthday,  and  also  her  wedding  day  ;  for 
they  had  been  married  that  morning,  and  had  immediately 
driven  down  there,  leaving  the  two  mothers,  assisted  by  the 
proud  and  happy  Amanda,  to  do  the  honors  of  the  house  to 
the  half  dozen  friends  invited  to  witness  the  ceremony,  in 
cluding  Mrs.  Drummond,  who,  owing  to  some  recent  news 
from  St.  Louis,  to  the  effect  that  Miss  Agnes  would  soon  be 
the  wife  of  a  millionnaire,  was  disposed  to  be  very  gracious 
and  complimentary  towards  the  bride  and  her  mother,  and 
par  consequence,  so  far  mollified  Amanda's  disposition,  "  to 
snap  off  her  head  like  a  poppy,"  that  she  might  be  said  to 
entertain  towards  her  quite  a  commendable  and  Christian 
mood. 

This  short  drive  was  to  be  their  bridal  tour ;  for  Ernest 
Wentworth,  on  the  eve  of,  as  he  supposed,  inevitable  bank 
ruptcy,  was  too  honest  to  squander  his  creditors'  money  on 
a  trip  to  Washington  or  Niagara.  He  can  meet  his 

(362) 


A    DISCLOSURE.  363 

obligations,  and  lie  does  not  look  either  "crushed"  or  "cast 
down  "  by  the  impending  change,  as  he  sits  there  in  Miss 
Silence's  front  room,  listening  to  her  chat,  and  inwardly 
wondering  what  secret  business  the  old  man  can  have  with 
his  bride. 

And  Sibyl  wonders,  too,  as  Master  Richard  draws  a 
packet  of  papers  from  a  large  old  pocket  book,  which  she 
has  seen  many  times,  in  the  years  gone  by,  lying  in  the  old 
desk.  It  had  been  his  father's,  and  held  all  the  family  pa 
pers.  Selecting  one  of  them,  he  begins  to  read. 

There  is  a  puzzled  look  on  her  face  at  first ;  but  gradually 
there  comes  a  flash  of  light,  and,  laying  her  finger  on  his 
arm,  she  says,  — 

"  James  Hungerford  —  the  same  old  gentleman  whom  I 
saw  at  Undercliff,  when  I  first  met  Ernest  ?  " 

"The  same,  Sibyl;"  and  he  goes  on  reading,  until, 
springing  to  her  feet,  she  cries,  — 

"  Mine !  mine,  did  you  say,  Master  Richard  ?  All 
mine  ! " 

"  All,  Sibyl.  You  are  the  heiress.  To-day  the  terms  of 
the  will  are  fulfilled,  and  you  come  in  possession.  But  what 
is  the  matter,  child  ?  " 

She  had  flung  herself  down  by  his  side,  and,  with  her 
head  upon  his  knee,  was  weeping  like  a  child. 

"'Nothing;  only  I  am  so  happy,  and  God  is  so  good, 
Master  Fenn.  But  this  trouble  of  Ernest's  —  I  see  it  all 
now.  I  am  the  creditor  to  whom  all  this  money  is  due  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  falls  due  to-day,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  I 


364  SIBYL. 

persuaded  him  to  forego  the  assignment  which  he  intends  to 
make,  until  after  to-day.  I  might  have  told  "you,  dear,  I 
suppose,  seeing  the  day  was  so  near ;  but  I  thought  you 
would  prefer  to  speak  to  him  about  it  as  his  wife." 

"  You  were  right,  as  you  always  are,  dear  Master 
Richard ;  but  call  him  in  —  tell  him  about  it  yourself,"  she 
cries,  with  tremulous  eagerness.  "I  never  can  make  it 
plain.  It  is  so  strange ! " 

He  did  call  him  in,  and  contrived  to  make  it  plain  to  him 
in  a  few  words. 

"  I  always  supposed  the  money  to  have  been  James 
Plungerford's,  but  I  did  not  once  suspect  the  true  heir,"  he 
said.  "  But  you,  Sibyl,"  he  went  on,  half  reproachfully, 
"  you  preferred  to  struggle  on  in  poverty,  while  I  enjoyed 
the  benefit  of  this  bequest.  You  did  indeed  think  meanly 
of  me,  after  all ! " 

"  You  forget  that  until  within  the  last  half  hour  I  was 
as  ignorant  of  my  fortune  as  yourself.  Besides,  if  I  had 
been,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  told  you ;  for  you  might  have 
cast  me  off,  you  know.  You  cannot  refuse  it  now." 

As  they  were  preparing  to  return  home  in  the  early 
twilight,  Miss  Silence  brought  forward  a  good-sized  bundle, 
and  laid  it  by  Sibyl's  shawl. 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Silence  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wentworth, 
smiling.  "  I  shall  carry  no  contraband  goods." 

"  I  won't  say  but  what  the  contents  of  that  bundle  might 
have  been  once  in  the  world  smuggled  off  unlawfully,"  re 
turned  the  old  lady,  with  a  kind  of  dry  smile ;  "  but  they 


A     WEDDING    GIFT.  365 

came  into  my  hands  honestly,  as  a  wedding  gift  to  your 
wife.  Wife!  It  sounds  odd  enough,  don't  it?  There, 
Sibyl,"  she  went  on,  opening  the  bundle,  and  displaying 
several  folds  of  very  fine,  but  very  yellow  linen,  "  every 
thread  of  that  was  spun  by  your  own  grandmother,  Sibyl 
Umberfield.  See,  here  is  her  name,  marked  by  her  own 
fingers,  too,  if  it  hain't  been  picked  out.  There  'tis  — '  S.  U.' 
How  did  I  come  by  it  ?  Why,  I  was  over  in  Plainville 
the  other  day,  and  I  thought  I'd  just  call  and  see  Polly 
Mason,  your  uncle's  widow.  I  may  as  well  say  I  meant  to 
tell  her  of  your  coming  marriage,  and  kinder  cut  her  up  ; 
but  she's  a  poor  creatur',  Sibyl,  confined  to  her  chair  by 
rheumatiz,  brought  on  by  overworkin'  herself,  the  doctors 
say ;  and  when  I  come  to  see  her,  my  heart  was  soft  as  pap. 
But  she  asked  about  you,  and  I  told  her,  makin'  as  if  she 
knew  all  about  it,  of  course,  and,  as  true  as  I  live,  she 
seemed  pleased.  She  said  she  was  glad  you  had  turned 
out  so  well ;  that  she  sometimes  thought  that  she  didn't 
have  patience  enough  with  you,  seein'  how  ignorant  you 
was  when  you  came  down  here ;  that  'twas  a  dreadful  thing 
to  sit  there,  day  after  day,  with  nothin'  to  think  about  but 
things  done  long  ago  ;  and  then  she  asked  me  to  draw  her 
up  to  a  chest,  which  stood  in  the  room.  I  moved  her  up, 
and  she  unlocked  a  drawer  and  took  out  these,  — a  pair  of 
sheets  and  pillow  cases,  —  and  said  may  be  you  would  like 
to  have  'em,  'cause  they  were  your  grandmother's.  I  guess 
you'll  have  to  go  and  see  her  some  time,  Sibyl." 

Let  us   say  here  that  she  did  go  to  see  her.     Both  she 


366  SIBYL. 

and  her  mother  did  what  they  could  to  lighten  the  old  wo 
man's  painful  existence ;  but  we  are  not  sure  that  these 
visits,  welcome  as  they  seemed  to  be,  tended  to  make  Mrs. 
Monroe's  review  of  the  past  at  all  more  pleasant. 

"  Sibyl,"  said  Mrs.  Wentworth,  with  something  of  her  old 
sternness,  that  night,  when  her  son  concluded  his  explana 
tion  of  James  Hungerford's  will,  and  the  relation  of  his  own 
affairs  towards  it,  "  when  you  entered  my  family  as  govern 
ess,  did  you  know  that  my  son  owed  his  solvency  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  !  " 

"  It  is  well ;  for  had  it  been  otherwise,  I  could  hardly 
have  forgiven  you." 

It  is  a  rich  midsummer  afternoon.  Above  arches  the 
deep-blue  sky,  so  clear,  so  pure,  that  one  almost  fancies  that 
he  can  catch  there  glimpses  of  angel  faces  ;  while  below,  the 
broad,  green  earth,  with  her  rich  burden  of  harvests,  lies 
steeped  in  the  golden  sunlight,  and  God's  peace  seems  to 
brood  over  all. 

Softly,  solemnly,  the  sunlight  falls  on  every  haunt  by 
forest  and  brook  side,  where  we,  in  the  old  days,  have  wan 
dered  with  Fred  and  Sibyl ;  but  on  no  spot  does  it  rest 
more  lovingly  than  upon  the  old  churchyard  of  Eltham.  Art 
has  done  little  towards  improving  the  natural  advantages  of 
the  place  ;  but  Nature,  with  a  grace  all  her  own,  has  wreathed 
the  low  stone  walls  with  bittersweet  and  ivy,  and  on  the 
south  side,  which  is  divided  from  the  river  by  a  fringe  of 
alders,  the  wall  is  festooned  with  clematis,  whose  rich, 
creamy  blossoms  fill  the  air  with  their  frngranco. 


CONCLUSION.  367 

Near  the  centre  of  the  yard,  where  a  plain,  but  very 
beautiful  slab  of  Italian  marble  marks  the  last  resting  place 
of  Fred  Monroe,  Sibyl  stands  with  her  husband.  Many 
changes  have  come  since  they  laid  that  young  head  down 
there,  but  none  that  can  dim  his  memory,  or  make  them 
oblivious  of  his  gentle  goodness  and  loving  heart. 

"  You  will  come,  in  your  happiness,  and  stand  with  those 
you  love  about  my  grave,  Sibyl." 

She  recalls  these  words  now,  even  the  very  tone  in  which 
he  spoke  them,  and  the  gentle,  sympathizing  pressure  of  her 
husband's  hand  cannot  check  her  tears. 

But  hark !  from  the  old  church,  whose  doors  stand  open, 
come  the  rich  strains  of  an  organ, — .Sibyl's  gift  to  the  soci 
ety,  —  mellow  as  the  sunlight  about  them,  piire  and  deep  as 
the  sky  above,  but  sometimes  a  little  tremulous  and  uncer 
tain,  as  if  called  forth  by  the  hand  of  childhood  or  old  age. 

Sibyl  hushes  her  tears,  while  the  grand  "Hallelujah 
Chorus  "  fills  the  whole  air  with  harmony. 

She,  too,  notes  the  tremulous  touch,  and  says,  while  an 
expression  of  anxious  sadness  gathers  upon  her  face,  — 

"  He  fails,  Ernest ;  I  can  see  it  every  day.  Dear  Master 
Fenn  !  what  should  we  do  without  you  ?  " 

Her  husband  makes  no  reply  in  words,  but  drawing  her 
closer  to  him,  points  to  the  inscription  on  the  marble  at  her 
side,  — 

"  His  LOVINO  KINDNESS  is  BETTER  THAN  LIFE." 

"  You  arc  right,  Ernest ! "  and  with  a  glance  of  loving 
reverence,  she  looks  into  his  face. 


368  SIBYL. 

"  Mamma  !  papa  !  O,  see  !  here  they  are ! "  and  out 
from  the  dim  shadows  of  the  old  porch  comes  a  little  girl  of 
some  four  summers,  leading  old  Master  Fenn  by  the  hand. 

He  needs  guidance  now,  for  his  mother's  infirmity  is 
fast  gathering  over  those  mild  blue  eyes ;  he  sees  but  little, 
but  he  does  not  repine.  God  has  sent  the  little  Mabel  — 
for  the  name  of  the  dear  old  mother  graces  Sibyl's  eldest 
born  —  to  be  hands  and  feet  to  him,  he  says.  "  Why  should 
he  complain  ?  " 

He  stands  for  a  time  looking  silently  down  upon  that 
green  grave,  while  the  little  girl  traces  with  her  tiny  fingers 
the  deep-cut  letters,  and  spells  out,  in  a  low  tone,  the  words 
she  fancies  are  cut  there  — 

"DEAR  UNCLE   FEED." 

"  See,  the  shadows  are  falling  here,  Sibyl.  Master  Rich 
ard,  we  must  think  of  home." 

"With  his  little  girl  by  his  side,  Ernest  Wentworth  turns 
towards  the  gate,  followed  by  Sibyl  and  their  white-haiz-ed 
old  friend,  who,  taking  Ernest's  casual  remark  for  a  text, 
goes  on  to  speak  of  the  past ;  of  all  they  have  loved  and 
lost,  and  points  out  how  each  noble  deed,  each  earnest  effort, 
ay,  each  black  cloud  of  doubt,  and  each  sharp  struggle  with 
temptation,  may  become  angel  helpers,  to  lift  us 

"  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  INTO  THE  SUN." 


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